


Shifting Threads

by dreamingunderthetstars



Category: Durarara!!
Genre: Alternate Universe - Adoption, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Anxiety Disorder, Canon Gang Violence, Depression, Fluff and Angst, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Izaya Being Himself, Izaya Being Nice, Izaya's Father is a warning tbh, Mild Language, Minor Character Death, PTSD, Panic Attacks, dunno where I'm going with this however, for once, mild violence
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-05-12
Updated: 2017-02-08
Packaged: 2018-06-07 22:02:02
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 9
Words: 27,538
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6826528
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dreamingunderthetstars/pseuds/dreamingunderthetstars
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In another world, Ryuugamine Mikado did not become an orphan in the span of twenty-four hours. In another world, Orihara Izaya would begin to toy with the newly created Blue Squares. In another world, the Yellow Scarves would've already been making a name for themselves. In another world, Heiwajima Shizuo would be fired from another job. In another world, a certain Dullahan would continue her fruitless search for her head whilst sharing a roof with an eccentric, underground, doctor. In another world, it would take another year for Ryuugamine Mikado to step foot on Ikebukuro and set various things into motion.</p><p>This, however, is not that world. Not anymore.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. A Divergence of Fate // A Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> I don’t own Durarara!! No copyright infringement intended, no money is being made. All rights reserved to Ryōgo Narita.
> 
> This is just something that popped up in my head (originally, it was going to be “Mikado is Izaya’s sibling” but I changed it to this version instead). I’m a bit behind on my DRR knowledge (seven lastest episodes of the second season, actually) but this will begin pre-season one. Mikado will be in middle school, his second-year, and the twins will be in their first year. Masaomi will be in Ikebukuro at this time. 
> 
> And yes, the Dollars will still be created. 
> 
> I don’t really plan on continuing this unless someone wants me to or if I get a burst of inspiration. So this is a prologue of sorts.
> 
> I also apologize for any inaccuracies of the manga/anime and Japanese culture in general. I do not intend to offend anyone. Sorry for any grammar/spelling errors
> 
> Hope you enjoy!

**_Shifting Threads_ **

_“…and onto more depressing news,”_ the woman spoke as the camera focused its’ lenses on her. The anchor was quite plain, in Izaya's opinion, and made the news channel a bit more boring. _“In a small town in the Saitama Prefecture, a serial killer was running rampant. The murderer managed to have a victim count of seventeen before he was stopped by a twelve-year-old boy, who managed to knock him out by knocking a bookcase onto him after the serial killer murdered his parents in an attempt of self-defense. The child will not be named for security purposes, and all of Japan wish him the best of luck as he_ _—_ _,”_

The television clicked off. Izaya Orihara sighed, drumming his fingers against his desk. “How boring,” he murmured. There was no one online in the chatroom, and requests were slow today. He was slightly curious, however, about the serial killer. Surely, someone must’ve connected the dots if such an act was being committed in a tight-knit community.

He opened up a new browser to begin his research but his phone rang sharply into the silent air of his apartment. Izaya sighed but dutifully answered the call; it could be a prospective client.

“Orihara Izaya,” he answered. “Ikebukuro’s Inform—,”

 _“I know who you are, Izaya,”_ greeted the familiar man on the other end. _“I am the one who contributed to a half of your DNA, after all.”_

Izaya held in his sigh. The day had begun so peacefully, too. “Otōsan.”

 _“Son,”_ his father said. _“I’d like to meet you at one of our estates.”_

It wasn’t a request.

Izaya resisted the urge to grit his teeth. He really loathed it when his father ordered him around as if he were still a child, still under his roof; as if he didn’t have anything better to do with his life. He opened his mouth to, perhaps, set up another date since his computer and that serial killer was calling his name but his father seemed to have thought of his refusal and said, _“I know you’re not getting any calls, Izaya. You’re in Shinjuku, yes? I will see you at the house the twins like to frequent in an hour. Do not be late.”_

“Of course,” Izaya murmured. “I will see you then.”

His father hung up the phone and Izaya groaned. So much for research. So much for a peaceful day. He really hated dealing with the old man.

The hour to meet encroached slowly but Izaya entered the suburban area with ease, making his way to the slightly larger, sprawling home his little twin sisters’ adored. His fathers’ car was parked in the driveway and Izaya pulled in. He sighed, parking his car, and geared himself for the meeting that would take place. He didn’t know _why_ his father wished to speak with him – and that fact that he was without information rubbed Izaya the wrong way.

A maid greeted him as he entered the house, bowing respectfully. “Orihara-sama is waiting for you in the family room, Izaya-sama.”

Izaya gave her a polite nod of acknowledgement and she scurried away, predictably. Izaya sighed once more but straightened and made his way towards the family room of the Shinjuku Estate. As he crossed the threshold of the spacious, airy room, he saw that his father was peering at a portfolio.

“Otōsan,” Izaya greeted as he drifted towards the plush couches, and sat down across from his father. “What is it that you wished to speak with me about?”

Silence permeated around the room as his father deemed it amusing to force his son to wait. Izaya knew perfectly well that the donator of half his DNA simply wanted to see if he would crack underneath the pressure in the room. He didn’t. Izaya relaxed against the couch, lightly fingering the blade in his pocket, as he waited for his father to breach the unknown topic.

“Izaya, I want you to adopt a child…a boy, to be more specific.”

The twenty-one-year-old blinked slowly, his mind processing the words his father had just uttered. “I beg your pardon, father,” Izaya replied. “But – what?”

His father gave a soft chuckle. “You heard me, son. I want you to become a father.”

“Why?” Izaya questioned. He loved humanity. He really, truly, did. Humans were predictable, they were easy. Of course, the only humans he couldn’t predict were his own family. Figures. “I find it surprising you think a twenty-one-year-old to be a good choice for a father.”

“Izaya, Izaya,” his father said, smirking in a fashion similar to his own. “Your mother and I agree that this would show you some more stability, responsibility; and you can grow emotionally, mentally, etcetera. Fatherhood will do you wonders.”

Izaya sighed, rubbing his temples. Was this some sort of cosmetic revenge for all the times he’d harassed Shizu-chan into a near murderous rage? Or was it because of the suicide chatrooms? Either way, there was no changing Orihara Tsutomu’s mind. “How old is the kid? What’s his name?”

His father tossed a folder into his lap. “He’s twelve – turning thirteen soon; in March, I believe. A second year in middle school. He lives in the small town of Saitama.”

Izaya opened the folder and peered at the information – what was so interesting about this child?

“His name is Ryuugamine Mikado.”

* * *

 

**_Shifting Threads_ **

* * *

 

_[Setton has logged on.]_

_[Kanra has logged on.]_

**_[Kanra]_ ** _: Hi Setton!_

**_[Setton]_ ** _: Hello Kanra, how are you?_

**_[Kanra]_ ** _: I’m good. Ne, have you heard?_

**_[Setton]_ ** _: Heard what?_

**_[Kanra]:_ ** _there’s been a serial killer amongst Japan – in Saitama, to be more specific._

**_[Kanra]:_ ** _They haven’t published the killers’ name but s/he was stopped by a twelve-year-old boy_

**_[Kanra]:_ ** _the kid pushed a bookcase on the murderer after his parents were killed_

**_[Kanra]:_ ** _Scary, huh? Makes me wonder_

**_[Setton]:_ ** _That’s so horrible!! When did all this happen?_

**_[Kanra]:_ ** _it was on the news this morning, Setton-san._

**_[Kanra]:_ ** _someone should pay more attention to the world around them, Setton-chan_

* * *

 

**_Shifting Threads_ **

* * *

 

“Interesting,” Izaya mumbled to himself as he looked over the sheets of information. There wasn’t much in the folder, most likely his father wished for him to get to know the boy through experience. It was general information – the things Mikado disliked and liked, his allergies, etc. “And…when do you wish for this to happen? What is so special about Ryuugamine Mikado?”

“You know that serial killer that was caught this morning?” Tsutomu said, clearing his throat slightly. “Called herself ‘Bloody Mary’, and she made the unfortunate mistake of going after the Ryuugamine’s.”

Izaya’s eyebrows rose to his hairline. Wasn’t this interesting. “So Ryuugamine-kun is the only living survivor from this serial killers’ reign? How curious.”

“Your mother fell in love with his visage,” Tsutomu remarked, rolling his eyes. “Said something about him being adorable beyond words.”

“That does sound like Okāsan,” Izaya chuckled softly. “I still have a few more complaints about this, father dear. I don’t know how to raise child, let alone a traumatized one. And doesn’t this adoption process take months to get completed?”

“That’s only if you go through the proper channels without the right connections,” His father smirked. “The paperwork is being finalized as we speak. Your mother and I didn’t want someone else to get their hands on the child.”

Izaya blinked at his father before deadpanning, “You forged my signature, didn’t you?”

“As a matter of fact, I didn’t,” his father denied. “It was Kururi.”

He felt his eyebrow twitch. _Of course it was one of the little brats…_ “There is one factor you aren’t counting,” Izaya scowled, allowing his composure to drop in front of family. “What about the rest of Ryuugamine-kun’s family?”

“Mikado is the only Ryuugamine left,” his father explained. “His grandparents passed away when he was nine – both maternal and paternal. His parents were only children, and there were no Great Aunts or Uncles or cousins. It was just the three of them, until this morning, that is.”

Izaya resisted the urge to rub his forehead. A migraine began to settle underneath his skull. However, he had allowed a drop in his visage already – showing his irritation around his father was crossing the line. “Where is he now?” Izaya questioned. “The hospital? An orphanage? The psych ward?”

“A children’s hospital that was built for traumatic experiences such as these,” his father said, ignoring Izaya’s snarky tone. “He’s reacted the way the doctors’ expected – psychologically, of course. I’ve spoken with the Head, and I was told that Mikado will be released two weeks after the adoption papers are finalized. They would also like to meet with all of us the day it’s done.”

 _Troublesome. Interesting but troublesome,_ Izaya thought. His mind processed all the information that was just shoved into his face. He was a soon-to-be-father of a twelve-year-old boy whose birth parents had been murdered, presumably _in front of his face_. His own parents found the preteen to be interesting (as well as adorable), and seemed to think that by caring for another human being, Izaya would shed some of his colder skin.

It was laughable.

Orihara Izaya was an Information Broker.

He had no choice but to be _cold_ and _ruthless_ and _cunning_ – if he wasn’t, well, he wouldn’t have lived to see his twenty-first birthday. He had hundreds of people at his beck and call, owing him favors that he’s yet to cash in. He’s made himself a comfortable niche – albeit a dangerous one – in Ikebukuro and Shinjuku. He even had some of the color gangs knocking on his door for information! The world was at his fingertips, to do as he pleased.

And now, when life in Ikebukuro was getting _interesting_ (someone named Kuronuma Aoba – a first year in Raijin Middle – had created a color gang – the Blue Squares; and someone from Ikebukuro Middle was thinking of creating their own gang – the Yellow something), his parents decided it was time he became a father.

It was amusing, and highly infuriating, how his parents tried to control the aspects of his life ever since he told them he didn’t wish to be the Orihara Heir. He didn’t want to go into the family business, he didn’t want to attend stiffy meetings with people who were born with a golden spoon in their mouths. He wanted to watch humans and play their strings so he can watch it unravel in the safety of his apartment. His parents accepted it (“Izaya, you were always a flighty child”), and his uncles’ son was being groomed to be the Heir of the conglomerate (last he’d checked, Shōyō was loving every minute of it) but they accepted it with a condition that Izaya _knew_ was going to come bite him in the ass.

_“Because you do not wish to be the Heir,” his mother said benignly, smiling gently at his nervous silhouette. “Within reason, you will submit to one request we may give you.”_

_Izaya raised an eyebrow. “Request? Please elaborate, Okāsan.”_

_His father cleared his throat. “In the future, if we want you to do something – unless it’s murder, illegal, or goes against your morals – you’ll do it without complaint. If you can’t accept that condition, then you will remain the Orihara Heir.”_

_“Do you accept, my beloved son?” his mother questioned._

_Izaya gave a nod, despite the churn in the pit of his stomach. “I accept, Otōsan, Okāsan.”_

_As he left the room, Izaya couldn’t help but think he’d signed a contract with a demon._

“I suppose you want him to attend Raijin Middle?” Izaya questioned.

“His junior high schooling is up to you, Izaya,” his father answered. “High school, however, is up for the two of you to converse with.”

“Are you sure Ryuugamine-kun is in the right state of mind to continue schooling?” Izaya asked, his lips pointed in a frown. “And what about the funeral for his parents? Their will?”

“The town is taking care of that for him,” his father responded. “And Mikado’s parents hadn’t created a will. Naturally, since Mikado is their only offspring, all of their belongings are transferred into his possession. Your mother thought ahead and has already bought their house so that it wouldn’t have to be sold.”

Izaya stared.

“And in regards to Mikado’s state of mind,” his father continued. “I daresay that’s up to the doctors’ discretion. Any other questions? And don’t tell me you don’t have enough room in that apartment of yours. You made sure it had three bedrooms because of the twins’ spontaneous visits.”

He really, _really_ , despised speaking with his old man.

“Do they know about this?” Izaya managed to ask. “Does anyone on in the family know about Ryuugamine-kun?”

“Of course they do,” his father said. “They’re all ecstatic – in fact, your aunts’ were thinking of throwing a party to celebrate you finally getting your act together.”

Izaya resisted the near overwhelming urge to bare his teeth at his relatives’ actions. They’d always thought that his choice of job was going to get him murdered, and was never demure in voicing their opinions about it whenever there was a get-together.

“No party,” Izaya groused, irritation briefly fluttering in his eyes. “Besides – how are you so certain the adoption will be processed and legalized? Won’t those in charge think it too early?”

A smirk stretched over his fathers’ lips, a smirk that Izaya mirrors on a daily basis. “According to your mother, who texted me when you’d first arrived, the adoption papers were accepted. Ryuugamine Mikado has been Orihara-Ryuugamine Mikado as of thirty-minutes.”

Izaya felt his eye twitch. He hated it when his father manipulated him into these sorts of situations (and people wonder where he’d gotten such a skill in manipulation). He found it curious, though, that his newly adopted – _son_ was keeping his last name. As he opened his mouth to ask, his father waved his hand dismissively.

“I didn’t want his last name to be like that,” his father scowled. “However, your mother _and_ Kururi insisted. Said it was cruel to take away everything Mikado had known or something along those lines. However, he will be referred to as Orihara, since that is a more powerful last name than Ryuugamine. Before you ask, inside the folder is all of Mikado’s papers – birth certificate, vaccinations, medical history, and educational history – as well as information on the hospital he’s residing in.”

Izaya twitched, disliking the upper hand.

“I expect you to, of course, take the time to get to know your son,” his father told him. “I’m certain Ikebukuro and Shinjuku will not fall to the depths of a criminal mastermind if you’re gone for a while.”

Although he wished to shout, and threaten, and embed his dagger in the wall, Izaya gave a nod and murmured, “Of course, Otōsan.”

“Good,” his father smiled. “It was a pleasure, son.”

Had he mentioned how much he hated his father?

* * *

 

**_Shifting Threads_ **

* * *

 

“Orihara-Ryuugamine Mikado, huh?” Izaya murmured, staring down at his complex game of chess, shogi, as well as a scattering of other pieces that only made sense to him. His apartment was silent save for the whirring air conditioner circulating his home, and the quiet ticks of his computer. “Hmm. Curious. How very curios.”

Izaya placed a Queen on the board, snickering quietly to himself.

“I wonder what you’re made of, Mi-chan,” he laughed. “The floor is yours.”

 

 


	2. Smiles of Poison // One

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> RECAP: Izaya was told – ordered – that he was to adopt a traumatized twelve-year-old Ryuugamine Mikado, whose world was changed in under twenty-four hours.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I don’t own Durarara!! No copyright infringement intended, no money is being made. All rights reserved to Ryōgo Narita. Also I apologize for any inaccuracies with the Japanese culture. I do not mean to insult/offend anyone. If you’d like for something to be added into the story (such as a holiday or something), tell me about it. I’ll see if I can find a way to incorporate it into the story. 
> 
> I will be switching from Izaya’s perspective and Mikado’s perspective, and I may mix in a few other characters’ but I haven’t decided based on that. This story is going to be slow-paced as I try to figure out what I want to do with this story.   
> Please keep in mind that this is Cannon Divergence. Meaning: barely anything will be the same anymore. The Blue Squares are established, and Kida is at the tip of creating the Yellow Scarves. 
> 
> The fate of the Dollars' will be revealed slowly. 
> 
> Also, Mikado will be different. He’s still his stuttering, naïve, adorable self but he has a darker side to him, which is shown in both the Manga (which I’m still reading) and the anime (which I've FINALLY finished), but his darker side, in this at least, is stemming from the fact that he witnessed the death of his parents in a span of twenty-four hours. 
> 
> Also, Mikado may/may not have an anxiety disorder and/or PTSD.
> 
> Sorry for any spelling/grammar errors.

* * *

 

**_Shifting Threads_ **

* * *

 

The atmosphere inside Tsuchiya Children’s Hospital was a bit more cheerful than Izaya would have expected. Given the morbid situations that took place in a hospital, nonetheless one designated for children, Izaya would’ve thought there’d be less — well — _vivacity_. He gave a charming, innocuous smile at one of the desk attendants. The woman, predictably, gave a small swoon with a light blush dotting her cheeks.

“How may I help you today, sir?” she questioned.

Izaya could see the stars in her eyes as he smoothly requested, “I’m here to see Ryuugamine Mikado.”

She hummed, typing the word in her computer. “Name, sir?” she asked him distractedly.

“Orihara Izaya,” he replied.

 The woman — Izaya’s eyes flicked towards her name tag: Nomura Keiko; how boring — froze, her fingers pausing on the keyboards. She blinked at him, pale brown orbs seemingly drinking in his appearance. “O-Orihara-sama? As in, R-Ryuugamine-kun’s adoptive father?”

“Yes, that’s me,” Izaya said, briefly wondering how she knew Mikado was adopted. News must travel fast in a hospital, then. “Is there a problem?”

“N-No! Not at all, Orihara-sama,” Nomura stammered, grasping her bearings before she grinned at him. “May I see some identification, please?”

“Of course,” Izaya said, handing the woman his ID. As she checked to make sure it was legitimate, Izaya’s mind wandered over the newest slip of information in his grasp. A middle schooler — second year, to be more specific — named Kida Masaomi had created a color gang, calling it the Yellow Scarves. He wanted to see what sort of sparks Yellow Scarves and Blue Square would cause. Would they grasp the attention of the Yakuza or that of Heiwajima Shizuo? Or should he make one of the leaders his pawn? In his debt, maybe?

Hmm. Decisions, decisions, decisions.

“Here you go, Orihara-sama,” Nomura said, pressing a nametag and his ID in his hands. “Clip it to the front of your shirt so that security knows you’re a visitor. Your — your son is on the third floor, in room number twelve.”

Izaya gave the woman a polite nod, a thank-you, and a parting smile before breezing his way towards the elevator. He heard a small chaos erupting behind him as one of the attendants next to Nomura squealed, “Keiko-chan, he was totally into you!”

“No, he wasn’t!” Nomura protested, although she sounded delighted at the accusation. “Don’t be delusional, Hina-chan!”

“He definitely thinks you’re hot!”

As he pressed the button for the third floor, Izaya allowed himself to smirk. He loved humans, their reactions especially. Some people were so predictable, he had no other choice but to find them amusing. The ride to the third floor was uneventful and he soon stepped off the elevator, and made his way towards room twelve. He paid no mind to the other occupants of the floor; his attention was on Ryuugamine Mikado only.

The door to number twelve was closed and, after a brief hesitance, knocked. Izaya waited until a small voice from the inside spoke, “Come in.”

The hospital room was dressed in the calming colors of light blue and silver. The furnishings were sparse but well-kept and of high quality. Besides the hospital bed, there was a small beside table, a closet meant for hanging clothes and other belongings, and three chairs dotting the walls for visitors. Izaya stepped inside, shutting the door behind him, and drunk in the form of his adopted son.

 _Son._ Izaya still had to get used to the fact that he had a _son_.

Mikado gave him wary glances from where he sat, watching some anime on the television. An IV machine was attached to his left arm; there was a thick bandage wrapping around his right arm, and there was a bruise blossoming on his collarbone and cheek but — overall — Mikado didn’t, physically, look as though he’d escaped his death at the hands of a serial killer. He looked like he’d fallen down a short story of stairs.

His eyes, however — those peculiar blue orbs displayed his agony for the world to see.

Regardless of the blemishes, Izaya could see the appeal his adopted son held.

“Good morning,” Izaya greeted, plopping down in the chair that was pulled up to the child’s bedside. “Do you know who I am, Mikado-kun?”

He wanted to use his nickname for the kid but even he understood the term _baby steps._

Slowly, still guardedly though, Izaya noted with an inwardly grin, Mikado nodded. “You’re Orihara Izaya — my…my…”

“You can call me Izaya-san, or – kun if it makes you feel more comfortable,” Izaya interrupted, noticing that Mikado was grasping for words to say. He waited for the dark-haired preteen to nod before plowing onwards. “As you already know, I’m your adoptive father—,”

“What about my house?” Mikado interrupted. A glimmer of curiosity wiggled in those blue orbs. Inwardly, Izaya twitched. Those eyes looked as though they could search your soul. The child swallowed. “The…the funeral?”

“My mother — your adoptive grandmother now, I suppose — bought the house so that you’d be able to keep it as well as the possessions inside of it,” Izaya explained. “I was told that your neighborhood was working together for the funeral.”

Mikado fell quiet, staring blankly at his lap, twisting his fingers with one another. “I don’t…” he whispered, swallowing. “I don’t want to go back there.”

“I won’t force you,” Izaya murmured.

A comfortable silence settled around them as another show ended, their credits and music playing on the screen. Mikado turned his head to look outside, peering at the blue he could only see from the inside. Izaya didn’t mind the silence; he took out his phone and scrolled through his notes on the various clients he held, as well as other information on interesting people in the streets of Ikebukuro. He should go visit the thrumming town when he was done visiting — it’d been a while since he’d bothered Shizu-chan, after all. The protozoan might get complacent.

After thirty minutes or so of silence, Mikado’s hesitant voice breached it.

“What about school?” he asked quietly.

Izaya crossed his legs and leaned back in the chair. “It all depends on the doctors’, Mikado-kun,” Izaya replied. “If they deem you healthy enough — both physically and mentally — then you’ll be able to enjoy the rest of your second year in middle school.”

“Where do you live?” Mikado pried.

“I live in Shinjuku,” Izaya explained, “However, the school I wish to enroll you into is my alma-mater — Raijin.”

Mikado’s eyes widened slightly from recognition. “Isn’t that a prestigious school in Ikebukuro?”

“You are correct,” Izaya said, a small smile on his lips.  

Mikado fell silent once more, and Izaya found himself peering at the child before him. Ryuugamine — sorry, _Orihara_ -Ryuugamine Mikado was a perplexing human. He wasn’t reacting the way a traumatized child should; in fact, he was acting the opposite. There were no pestering questions about the serial killer or his parents or why he got adopted in such a short time span or, even, why it had to be _his_ family that the killer targeted. Although flashes of grief and sorrow clutched the child, those were few and far in between their conversation.

His adopted son was a puzzle.

A slight smirk fell on Izaya’s lips.

Oh, how he _loved_ puzzles.

* * *

 

**_Shifting Threads_ **

* * *

 

“Ne, ne, Iza-nii!” shouted a highly annoying voice.

“…Oniisan…” whispered another, this one timid and reserved.

Izaya resisted sighing as his twin sisters came swinging into view – Mairu was bouncing on the heels of her feet, her long braid swinging behind her, and Kururi was following the youngest twin at a more sedate pace, an emotionless mask on her face. He was back in his apartment, looking over the notes on Mikado’s past. He only had three calls that day, and none of them were worth his time.

Izaya sighed and turned to face his siblings. “What do you pests want?”

Mairu pouted, her russet eyes flashing. “Iza-nii shouldn’t be so mean to his flesh and blood! So! How’s our nephew? When are you bringing him home?”

“He’s not a dog,” Izaya glared at the vibrant, younger, twin. “And your…nephew…is doing fine for what he’s been through.”

Kururi blinked at him, eyes slow and wide. “…nephew…safe…?”

It took a minute but Izaya managed to decode what his little sister was trying to say. _Is our nephew safe now?_ “Mi-chan is fine,” Izaya assured the two. “He’s a bit banged up but, overall, he’s managing well.” Izaya peered at his siblings, the girls he could never understand. “Why do you two care? Normally, you’re in your own little world of two.”

Mairu shrugged her shoulders with a devious smirk dancing on her lips. “We’re curious, of course. Besides, he’s family now. It’s _normal_ for us to care.”

Izaya eyed them, still wary, still suspicious at the innocence ringing in their voices. “You want something,” he voiced flatly. “What is it?”

Mairu gave a pout. “Aw. You figured us out so easily!”

“Oniisan…smart,” Kururi echoed. _Oniisan is very smart._

Izaya resisted the urge to bang his head on his desk. One, that would cause a splitting headache to occur, and two, it would show his sisters that he was letting his guard down. One should never let their guard down in front of an Orihara, no matter how young or innocent they may seem. Instead, he allowed a grimace to dance on his lips. It was still far too early to deal with his family members.

“As of today,” Mairu cheered, eyes alit with delight. “Kuru-nee and I are moving in!”

“No,” Izaya denied a split second later. “I refuse.”

Dramatically, Mairu scrunched up her face and cried, “AW, Iza-nii!!! Why not?”

“Because I don’t want you pests around twenty-four seven,” Izaya scowled. Just being around those two for a few minutes was taxing enough. Trying to decode the twins was like trying to figure out what happened to that demon blade, Saika. “Go _home_ , Mairu, Kururi.”

Kururi gazed at him, her eyes intelligent and observant. She blinked, slowly, and murmured, “Oniisan…lonely.”

_Oniisan is lonely._

Izaya felt his eye twitch in annoyance. “I am not lonely, Kururi.”

“Denial is a river in Egypt,” Mairu laughed. Her voice bounced and slithered in the crevices of his apartment. Izaya felt his headache grow. “Admit it! You’re just too much of a tsundere to say the truth!” the grin on his little sisters’ face annoyed the hell out of him.

Izaya resisted the urge to screech in frustration. The twins were more infuriating than his father, though he’d never despise the two like he did his old man. He was quite fond of the twins, seeing as how he ended up watching them as his parents attended dinners, conferences, and business parties where people spoke with double-edged swords and venomous teeth. He hated attending those things since, more often than not, a smattering of his family members’ would be there to “keep him company”.

“We’ll tell mother you won’t let us move in!” Mairu threatened with a smile that dripped poison. Hilarious. Izaya remembered one of his aunts’ — Aunt Nana, he thinks — teaching Mairu that smile when she was only three years old. Damn woman gave Izaya a heart attack whenever Mairu chose him as her practice victim.

Kururi blinked at him.

Izaya braced himself.

One word slipped off of the eldest twins’ mouth.

“Cousins.”

Izaya smothered his flinch but their sharp eyes caught his minuscule movement. They grinned, serene yet perilous, knowing thy had their older brother right where they wanted him. Silence crept inside of his home, tense and pensive, as the three siblings stared each other down, drawing imaginary battle lines with smirks that promised war.

“…fine…” Izaya sighed, knowing he’d lost before he even truly began. “You can move in.”

Mairu cheered, elated and booming. “Yay!” she twirled on the heels of her feet.

Kururi was more quiet. “Moved in.”

Izaya quickly decoded her words. _We’ve already moved in_. he refused to scowl and let them know of his irritation. “Brats,” he chose to say instead, like the petulant older brother that he is. The twins giggled at him before ambling (skipping, in Mairu’s case) down the hallway where the bedrooms were located.

“We’ll be doing English homework, okay?” Mairu called right before the tell-tale click of a closing door echoed in his apartment.

Before his mind could wander on all that is his siblings, one of his many phones (but never, _ever_ personal) began ringing obnoxiously. Izaya debated the benefits of answering the call as he reclines back in his computer chair. Then, after displaying that signature smirk that never ceases to wrangle psychotic rage out of Shizu-chan, he answers it on the third ring; it is a client, after all.

“Orihara Izaya speaking,” he purred before the other could speak. He could hear their breathing. They were panicking, and desperate. How delightful. Two perfect combinations. “Ikebukuro’s and Shinjuku’s information broker. How may I assist you today?”

The woman on the other end begins to dish out a rather — _interesting_ deal. As Izaya listened, he idly played with the pieces on his little board. A smile whispering promises that it will twist and bend and break is dancing on his lips.

* * *

 

**_Shifting Threads_ **

* * *

 

_[Kanra has logged on]_

_[Setton has logged on]_

_[Tanaka Tarou has logged on]_

**_[Setton]:_ ** _Afternoon everyone_

**_[Kanra]:_ ** _Hello, beautiful people!_

**_[Tanaka Tarou]:_ ** _Hey guys. Sorry I haven’t logged on in a while._

**_[Tanaka Tarou]:_ ** _I’ve been in the hospital_

**_[Kanra]:_ ** _really?!?! Are you okay???_

**_[Setton]:_ ** _How awful!!! Are you better?_

**_[Tanaka Tarou]:_ ** _Yeah, I suppose. So what’s been going on in your lives?_

**_[Setton]:_ ** _nothing much, really. Ikebukuro is quiet at the moment._

**_[Kanra]:_ ** _have you seen it yet, Setton-chan?_

**_[Tanaka Tarou]:_ ** _it?_

**_[Setton]:_ ** _oh…that…_

**_[Tanaka Tarou]:_ ** _? What is it?_

**_[Setton]:_ ** _I seem to be needed. Talk to you later_

_[Setton has logged off]_

**_[Kanra]:_ ** _Ah, just a real life urban legend that stalks the streets of Ikebukuro!!!_

**_[Kanra]:_ ** _exciting, ne? They call it the Black Rider, ever since it appeared twenty years ago_

**_[Kanra]:_ ** _it’s bike makes no noise except for this neighing sound, like a horse, and it has no headlights_

**_[Kanra]:_ ** _it’s mostly seen at night, doing it’s own thing_

**_[Kanra]:_ ** _but, you see Tanaka-kun, this legend is very enticing and wrapped in mystique. Would you like to know why?_

**_[Tanaka Tarou]:_ ** _why?_

**_[Kanra]:_ ** _you see….the reason why the Black Rider is so interesting to Ikebukuro_

**_[Kanra]:_ ** _is because it doesn’t have a head_

* * *

 

**_Shifting Threads_ **

* * *

 

The fragile threads of fate have shifted.

Humans are perplexing yet intriguing beings, no?

They have hearts capable of shattering and subsequently being pieced back together; capable of loving another irrevocably regardless of if that recipient be a human or a monster. Such a heart is captivating, especially when said heart was previously, purposely, made cold and blockaded. It only takes a catalyst to change it, spark the flames that would soon erupt into a blazing fire.

There are shifting threads among us. The written stone has crumbled.

What will you do? What’s going to happen?

Humans are so interesting. So predictable. So persevering. So resilient.  

Isn’t that why you proclaim to love them despite being a monster yourself? Right, Orihara Izaya?

Yet Orihara Izaya is not the only monster hiding beneath a human façade. Yes, depending on the perspective, the term ‘monster’ is subjective and fluctuating. There is no set definition for a monster. A monster could be someone who has superhuman strength or someone who is capable of loving a nonhuman. It could be someone with a cunning mind that would use their own sibling as a means to an end.

Wouldn’t they be a monster, then, if they weren’t human yet attributed pure human qualities? Would they still be a monster? Or would they be something that wasn’t quite human but not monstrous enough?

Wouldn’t someone who has their heart closed up and guarded with poison wire be considered a monster? Or would they just be a broken shadow of what they once were or would have been?

Well, regardless, in the concrete jungle that is Ikebukuro, humans and monsters intermingle and they find love.

 After all, there is a thin, fragile, line between what is human and what is not.

What will it take for that brittle line to sever? What will it take for a human to become a monster and a monster to become a human?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Regarding the hospital:   
> 1\. This is a real hospital in Kuki-shi, Saitama.   
> 2\. . It's the only childrens' hospital i coudl find in Saitama. 
> 
> Regarding the twins:   
> 1\. I hope I have them in character! (Same with Mikado!)
> 
> Hope you liked it!!


	3. Ordinary Happenstances in Ikebukuro // Two

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> RECAP: Izaya finally meets Mikado, whom is more intriguing in person. The twins, Mairu and Kururi, have barged their way into Izaya’s home, manipulating their brother effortlessly into allowing them to move in, and Izaya begins his own manipulation over the phone with a client. In a chatroom, the tales of an urban legend is spoken.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I don’t own Durarara!! No copyright infringement intended, no money is being made. All rights reserved to Ryōgo Narita. Also I apologize for any inaccuracies with the Japanese culture. I do not mean to insult/offend anyone.
> 
> Also, I apologize if Shinra isn’t “in character”. I find him harder to write than Izaya, to be honest.

* * *

 

**_Shifting Threads_ **

* * *

 

Izaya awoke with two bodies pressing against him. He resisted his instinctive urge to s _tab_ , _defend_ , _kill_ as he knew it was his siblings. Despite popular belief, Izaya would rather be ripped to pieces and then burned to death than cause his twin sisters harm. Directly and deliberately, that is. The Orihara family was quite overprotective over its’ members though no one had any qualms over subtly manipulating each other for their own gain. So long as no one outside of the family harmed an Orihara, everything was perfect.

“You two have your own bed,” Izaya murmured, the last dredges of slumber still clinging to his mind. “Get out of mine.”

“But, Iza-nii,” came the incessant whine on his left. Mairu. She was tugging on his shirt. “It’s almost noon! You’ve been sleeping for _hours_.”

“That’s what sleeping implies, generally,” Izaya said, groggily. The whispers of his latest dream still slithering inside of his mind as his conscious tried to grasp and preserve it. It was all in vain, however, as the remnants of his pleasant REM sleep danced away from his grasp whenever he reached out to touch its’ shadows. “Is there something you want?”

“Food,” Kururi spoke into his right ear, soft and quiet in the morning. _Make me breakfast, peasant,_ is what she was really saying.

“No.”

“Aw,” Mairu whined once more. Her voice was grating on Izaya’s nerves. “We’re _hungry_.”

As if to support her, her stomach grumbled obnoxiously.

Izaya sighed and pushed himself out of his bed, knowing that he’d never be allowed to sleep in with his little sisters’ by his side. If he fell asleep in their presence, they’d poke him until he awoke. It’d turn into an endless circle of Izaya trying to sleep and the two successfully keeping him from slumber. He made quick work of a shower and pulled on the outfit he was known to wear around Ikebukuro.

Once dressed, he made his way out of his room and headed towards the front door.

“Yay,” Mairu cheered from behind him, skipping delightedly. “Breakfast! Breakfast! Breakfast!”

Izaya turned around to peer at them. With a smirk, he asked, “Who said I was making you breakfast?”

Mairu’s outraged shriek could be heard throughout his apartment complex, accompanying his peals of laughter.

_“Iza-nii!!”_

* * *

 

**_Shifting Threads_ **

* * *

 

Izaya found himself setting foot in Ikebukuro. It was a peaceful day, Ikebukuro’s citizens rushing about normally. Izaya noticed a few individuals glancing at him apprehensively, most likely wondering on when Heiwajima Shizuo would come barreling through the streets with a murderous intent crackling in the air. Izaya smirked at them, walking at a sedate pace, as he observes the humans around him.

Three feet away from him, a girl with hair that defied gravity was chattering excitedly to someone else about some idol. An elderly male was steadily washing a shops’ windows to the left of Izaya. Around the corner, a mother was making soothing noises towards their shrieking babe with another child looking frazzled and annoyed. Nearing a quaint coffee shop, Izaya took note of a suspicious looking group of teens idling by the corner, eyeing up any female that sashayed past.

Izaya also spotted a few policemen strolling about, surreptitiously keeping a stern eye on said teens in case they proved to be dangerous.

Izaya turned another corner and watched how a woman — with her hair flying around her and wide, wide dark green eyes; such a peculiar color for a Japanese woman — spit flames in the face of a nondescript man, creating a scene with their lovers’ spat. Ironic that they were in front of a small, but well-known, dating service for those newly single “and ready to mingle”.

As he strolled through the streets he grew up on, Izaya’s mind wandered. His thoughts settled around the little boy that he was now responsible for. This wasn’t like his normal assignments and clientele — he was responsible for a human that was _his_. Everything he did would have a direct impact on Mikado’s life, and everything Mikado did would reflect on him.

Izaya rubbed his forehead with slight frustration as feelings of resentment built in his chest towards his sperm-donor.

How the hell was he supposed to raise a kid? A traumatized one? Granted, Mikado was intriguing but Izaya liked to have safe distance from humans, despite claiming to love them wholeheartedly, and observe their reactions in unpredictable situations. He could barely understand his little sisters despite having raised them by himself for half their life.

How could he raise a child that didn’t even have his blood in his veins?

 _Maybe Dotachin would know,_ Izaya thought before nodding. Kadota seemed like the type of person to know what to do with children. Unlike Izaya. He normally dealt with teenagers and adults, steering clear from children since they were too perceptive for their own good sometimes. Besides, what child would have use for an Information Broker?

“Now,” Izaya murmured to himself as he unlocked his phone, scrolling through the many forums. “If I were the Otaku Group…where would I be?”

Izaya blinked, soaking in his environment, and estimated that the Otaku Group was, most likely, by some anime store or Russia Sushi. He was nowhere near either options. He whirled on his heel to trek towards those destinations but a growl sounded from behind him.

_“Izaya-kun.”_

A lazy, self-confident smirk was on his lips immediately as he turned to face the speaker. “Shizu-chan,” he greeted in an almost mocking tone. Izaya drunk in the mans’ appearance — generic bartenders’ outfit his little brother bought him; hair dyed blonde; sunglasses with its’ darkest blue tint that hid brown orbs; cigarette clenched between two fingers — and grinned.

“Still pretending to be a bartender, Shizu-chan?” Izaya taunted, feeling the familiar rush of adrenaline in his veins as he tensed his legs, preparing to run and begin a chase around Ikebukuro. “Isn’t it time to find yourself a stable job? My, my. Such disappointing choices of work you’re making. I’m concerned, Shizu-chan.”

“Shut up,” Shizuo growled, stalking forward like a predator. Like the monster that he was. Izaya heard the scattering footsteps of bystanders as they made haste to get out of range from Ikebukuro’s Fortissimo. “Why are you in Ikebukuro, _flea_? I thought I made it clear that you _weren’t welcome here_.”

“Now, now, Shizu-chan,” Izaya smiled, taking a few steps backwards. He’d be an oblivious idiot to not notice the killer intent emanating from Shizuo. “There’s no need to be so hostile. I’m just taking a stroll through my hometown.”

 _“Bullshit,”_ Shizuo snarled, crunching his cigarette underneath his shiny shoes. Izaya’s smile curled into something poisonous and tainted. Ooh. Did Shizu-chan finally grasp employment? How boring. Can’t the Neanderthal choose something more exciting than bartending, of all things? “You’re up to something. Always. I suggest you leave before I kill you.”

“This again,” Izaya sighed as though he were annoyed despite the smile on his lips. Sometimes Izaya wondered why he continued taunting this beast, why he provoked it — maybe he wanted to see if this monster was capable of producing human reactions? Maybe he was bored? Or, as Kururi put it, he was lonely? Ah. Such a laughable concept — him, being lonely. Izaya could feel his insides breaking from suppressing his mirth. He was surrounded by his wonderful, lovely, humans. He had no reason to be lonely.

“You know, Shizu-chan,” Izaya continued, ignoring the way Shizuo’s fingers gripped into the nearest pole. A few people shrieked and scampered like ants at the way he uprooted the metal and crushed it with his bare hands. “Even I need to relax sometimes — my work is very demanding, you know? Well, not that you’d know seeing as how you can’t hold down a job for more than a few weeks.”

“And whose fault is that, shitty flea?!” Shizuo yelled, swinging the pole.  

“Not mine,” Izaya sang as he dodged the instrument.

Shizuo lurched forward with a growl and Izaya whipped out his butterfly blade and, with a taunting smirk thrown over his shoulder, initiated their notorious game of cat-and-mouse. Utilizing his skills at parkour, Izaya jumped and hopped on elevated things that gave him height as well as speed, breezily traveling through the backstreets of Ikebukuro with a monster raging behind him.

The urge to cackle like a mad scientist on the peak of discovery rose in his throat but Izaya squashed the urge. Laughing would make him distracted, and distractions were deadly when one was engaging in the art of parkour. He didn’t wish to break his leg by landing wrong or dropping into a slow pace, which would inevitably allow Shizu-chan to catch up to him.

His instinct flared to life and Izaya twisted his body as he jumped midair just in time to dodge an incoming bench that soared in his direction. It crashed against a few trashcans, scaring the stray animals. Shizu-chan growled once Izaya perched atop a lamppost, unharmed, and stalked forward with hands grasping for something else to throw at, and possibly injure, the Informant.

He paused, however, when he heard Izaya made a disapproving noise in the back of his throat. “Now, now, Shizu-chan,” Izaya chastised, as though he were concerned, as though he had the right. “I would curb your anger before someone gets hurt, you know? Wouldn’t want you to bring shame to your precious employer. Who knows? You might get fired again.”

Izaya would have to be oblivious to not notice the killing intent that swallowed Heiwajima Shizuo in that moment. Before the monster could regain his momentum, Izaya made his escape, finding out quickly that he was near Shinra’s apartment complex.  Maybe the underground doctor had some words of wisdom to dish out?

Izaya snickered once he heard Shizuo’s cry of rage but the Informant was already entering the complex to do much about it.

Shinra blinked in surprise at the sight of Izaya in front of his door. “Izaya? What are you doing here? Are you hurt?”

“No, I’m uninjured,” Izaya said, a serene grin on his lips. “However, I have a question to ask you.”

Shinra peered at him in curiosity as he allowed the Informant entry into his home. Celty — the Dullahan, Headless Rider, etc. — was peering at him from the kitchen as Shinra led him towards their living room couch. Izaya had no idea why Celty was in the kitchen seeing as how she couldn’t consume anything.

“So what’s this question of yours?” Shinra asked.

Izaya reclined on the couch, getting comfortable, as he inquired, “How do you raise a child, Shinra?”

Silence filtered in the apartment before Celty shoved her PDA in his face. _“A-Are you trying to tell us something, Izaya-kun???”_ she peppered.

Izaya blinked at the screen, cross-eyed, before he managed to decode her frantic letters. Shinra was in slight shock. Why was the Information Broker asking about parenting, of all things?

“I have a son,” Izaya told them simply, as though it were nothing new, as though it happened to everyone. “I was going to ask Dotachin but I ended up here instead.”

Shinra blinked, slowly, as his mind processed Izaya’s words. “A…son…”

“Yes, Shinra, a son,” Izaya confirmed patiently.

“Well, in regards to your question, you’ll probably have more luck asking Kadota,” Shinra spoke, shaking himself out of his shock. “I’m not that good with children.”

Izaya pouted. “And here I thought you’d have all the answers.”

The underground doctor snorted but then turned to his beloved. “Celty, do you think you could give Izaya a ride to Kadota? I’m certain they’re at some bookstore.”

Celty gave a slight shudder, possibly pitying the poor soul that would be under Izaya’s direct care, and tapped at her PDA. _“No problem,”_ she wrote. _“It’s been a while since I’ve been outside anyway.”_

The Otaku Group were, indeed, in front of a bookstore that mainly sold merchandise for otakus. One would have to be deaf to not hear Karisawa Erika and Yumasaki Walker shrieking about the latest manga they’d purchased. Kadota was leaning against Togusa’s car, rubbing his temples, while said owner was in his own world as he poured over a magazine with Hijiribe Ruri plastered on the front page in an adorable pose purely meant for fan-service than actual modeling.

Celty dropped Izaya off a few feet away from them and, feeling oddly generous, Izaya gave her a few thousand yen as thanks, ignoring her shocked spluttering via PDA. “Bye Celty,” he chirped as he made his way towards one of his high school friends. Karisawa was the one who noticed his approach first. Her eyes sparkled with excitement as she shrieked out a greeting.

“Iza-Iza!!”

“Karisawa-chan,” Izaya grinned at her before turning his eyes at Kadota Kyohei. “Dotachin, I have a question for you.”

The Otaku Group fell silent. It wasn’t every day that the infamous Information Broker sought out their expertise, after all. The man preferred to stalk the shadows as he watched all of his carefully placed strings unravel the way he’d predicted.

Izaya took a deep breath. “How...does one…raise a child?”

For a moment, the group of four blinked at him much like Shinra and Celty had. To be honest, Izaya was getting annoyed. What was so wrong with his question?

Then, Karisawa shrieked, “You have a kid?! Who? What’s their name? Is it a boy or a girl? How old are they? Where are they? Are they in school now? W—,”

Kadota covered the girls’ mouth, cutting off her repertoire of questions.

“His name is Mikado,” Izaya told them with his normal grin that makes Shizu-chan’s blood boil. “And he’s twelve, and going to be attending Raijin Middle pretty soon. He had an — accident a few days ago so he’s in the hospital now. I believe they’ll let him leave in another week or so.”

Kadota narrowed his eyes at Izaya. “Is this kid yours biologically?”

Izaya shook his head as his lips twisted into something poisonous. It made the others tense but Kadota was used to seeing that poisonous grimace from his school days. “No. Mi-chan is my adopted son,” Izaya said. “My old man forced me to adopt him after his parents were killed. He then rattled off something of how having a son would make me mature in many ways or some such.” Izaya paused, sighing, as he forced his bloodlust in the back of his mind. He forced a brighter smile on his lips. “However, I’ve no idea how to take care of Mi-chan.”

“Have you met this kid?” Togusa questioned as he closed his magazine. This was, admittedly, more interesting.    

“I have,” Izaya nodded. “He’s very polite and shy.”

Karisawa broke the tense air by her energetic shrieking. “IZA-IZA, YOU MUST LET ME BABYSIT, NE? I’M SERIOUS — I’D TAKE GOOD CARE OF HIM I SWEAR!!!”

Izaya blinked at her, undeterred by her sudden bout of insanity. A much kinder smile was on his face as he replied, “Sure. Maybe being around you could help him break out of his shell and relax around Ikebukuro. He was from a small town.”

“I see,” Kadota said, pensive. “Well, there is not set advice for parenting. However, you should let Mikado-kun know that you’re there for him and that you won’t abandon him. You should also reassure him whenever he’s insecure but don’t coddle him. Coddling your kid won’t do either of you any good, especially once he enters the adult world. Don’t just give him the basic necessities but don’t spoil him — I doubt you’ll have the patience to deal with an entitled brat. You should also be willing to listen to his problems and dish out an unbiased view to help him figure it out on his own but do understand that he can’t solve everything on his own. That means, Izaya, that you shouldn’t involve him in your little games.”

“Why, I’d never,” Izaya denied, a disgruntled look upon his face. “Even someone as I have morals, you know?”

Kadota, Yumasaki, and Togusa snorted. Karisawa seemed to be deep in her fantasies to pay attention, only mumbles escaped her lips though they were incomprehensible to a normal persons’ ears.

“Don’t forget to feed him too,” Togusa added.

Yumasaki nodded. “Food is important as well.”

Kadota rolled his eyes. “Izaya isn’t an idiot, guys.”

“That’s right,” Izaya grinned. “I’m not.”

A few feet away, the crowd parted mysteriously, and flashes of yellow caused the group to peer in curiosity. A handful of middle schoolers, for they looked no older than second-years at best, were strolling down the streets wearing some sort of yellow apparatus. Izaya felt his lips curl into a smirk at the sight of them.

“Ah,” he let out a small giggle. “Looks like Kida-kun finally made it.”

“Made what, Izaya?” Kadota questioned with an exasperated tone. Who was he screwing around with now?

The Informants’ smirk grew into a pleasing smile. “The Yellow Scarves.”

“Iza-Iza!” Karisawa spoke, jolting out of her daydreams, and dissipating the tense air that settled around them at the sight of the newly established color gang. “Do you have any pictures of Mika-chan?”

They blinked at her. _Who the hell was Mika-chan?_

“Ah,” Izaya’s eyes brightened with realization. “You mean Mi-chan, Karisawa-chan?”

“Yes!” Karisawa beamed. “My nickname for him is Mika-chan until I meet him and change it depending on my perception of him! So. Any pictures?”

Izaya shook his head, adopting a rueful expression. “Unfortunately, I don’t. Phones weren’t allowed in his room — something about technological interference? I didn’t want to risk it either way.”

Karisawa pouted, briefly, before she grew serious and asked, “What are his injuries?”

“Overall, he has a broken arm and a couple of bruises,” Izaya informed. “However, that is his physical appearance. He seems to be very private so I’ve no idea of how he is mentally, considering what he’s been through.”

Kadota was sharp. “He lived in a small town, and his parents were killed, you say?”

Izaya nodded, inwardly squealing at the intelligence his high school friend barely displayed.

“He’s the one who stopped Bloody Mary,” Kadota said. There was no doubt in his observation; he was so completely sure that he was right. Izaya forced himself to abstain on clapping. Dotachin would get annoyed and gripe at him.

“He is,” Izaya nodded.

Yumasaki peered at them with a confused expression. “Bloody Mary?”

“Sounds wicked!” Karisawa grinned, bright and vibrant. Unaware of what the name suggests. “Like something out of an action-packed manga!”

“They were a real person,” Kadota said flatly. Izaya was thrilled at the emotion Dotachin exhibited. “A serial killer, as a matter of fact.”

Karisawa fell silent as her mind whirled. “They killed Mika-chan’s parents, didn’t they?”

“They did,” Kadota murmured.

Izaya’s phone buzzed with an incoming phone call but, before he could answer, there was a deep rumble from behind him. The ground shook with the roar and Izaya grinned despite the danger that lurked, despite the adrenaline coursing in his veins, as he sprung out of the way, landing atop Togusa’s van, avoiding the incoming mailbox that was hurled in his direction.

_“Izaya-kun.”_

He laughed and hopped down from Togusa’s van — whom looked a few moments away from a panic attack at the thought of his van getting crushed by the likes of Heiwajima Shizuo — and made a dash around a corner, Shizuo’s roar crawling after his feet. Karisawa’s own shriek is ringing in his ears, as she screams out her fantasies involving he and Ikebukuro’s Monster. Izaya can barely resist his laughter. Maybe in another world he and Shizu-chan would get along. Maybe if they had met differently or there would be some mediator between the two of them.

However, this was not that world.

Not yet, at the very least, seeing as how Izaya can’t predict the future (no matter how much he yearns to).

Shizuo chased Izaya a few blocks away from the Otaku Group when Izaya whirled around and questioned, “Ne, Shizu-chan? How do you raise a child?”

Shizuo, catching his breath, snarled, “What the hell are you on, flea?”

“See, Shizu-chan, I have a — son.”

“What.”

“Yup! And I’ve no idea how to raise it.”

“First of all,” Shizuo growled, low and dangerous, as his rage receded slightly. His murderous was still there, however, only rumbling underneath his skin for now. “Your — son — isn’t an _it_ , Izaya-kun.”

“Hmm,” Izaya murmured, “Shizu-chan has a point. Ha! Maybe you’re not as useless as I thought, Shizu-chan!”

“What.” Shizuo growled, hands sinking into another pole, arms tensed to swing. “What did you just call me, flea?”

“Shizu-chan should dish out more creative insults, ne?” Izaya sighed, a malicious smirk on his lips. “I have a few suggestions! How about: useless. Worthless. Destructive. _Monster._ ”

Izaya’s cackling laughter is heard throughout Ikebukuro as Heiwajima Shizuo roars and swings the sign.

* * *

 

**_Shifting Threads_ **

* * *

 

**_[Setton]:_ ** _Ah, they’re at it again. When will they ever get tired of fighting? Honestly._

**_[Tanaka Taro]:_ ** _Um…who are you referring to, Setton-san?_

**_[Setton]:_ ** _that’s right! You don’t live in Ikebukuro, do you Tanaka-kun?_

**_[Tanaka Taro]:_ ** _Not at the moment. I’ll be moving there soon – in a week or two, I think._

**_[Setton]:_ ** _Well, I’ll was talking about two infamous enemies_

**_[Tanaka Taro]:_ ** _E-Enemies?_

**_[Setton]:_ ** _Yes. Heiwajima Shizuo and Orihara Izaya. Their fights are legendary in Ikebukuro, and destruction trails their wake. Always._

**_[Setton]:_ ** _anyway, please be careful when you do move here._

**_[Setton]:_ ** _Tanaka-kun?_

**_[Tanaka Taro]:_ ** _I’m sorry but did you say Orihara Izaya?_

**_[Setton]:_ ** _I did. Do you know him? you should stay away from him, Tanaka-kun._

**_[Tanaka Taro]:_ ** _why? Is he a bad person?_

**_[Setton]:_ ** _depends on who you ask, really. I personally deal with him, and he is very manipulative at best and sometimes sees humans as mere pawns_

**_[Setton]:_ ** _if anything, be careful around him._

**_[Tanaka Taro]:_ ** _I will, but I do like to have my own perception of people after all. I’ll hold my judgement until then_

**_[Setton]:_ ** _if you say so._

**_[Setton]:_ ** _anyway, how’s the hospital?_

**_[Tanaka Taro]:_ ** _Boring. I want to leave but I’ve another week or so._

**_[Setton]:_ ** _if anything, I wish you a speedy recovery!_

**_[Tanaka Taro]:_ ** _thank you, Setton-san. I appreciate it._

* * *

 

**_Shifting Threads_ **

* * *

 

Kishitani Shinra gave a slight shudder as he switched to another channel. Some anime began its’ introduction song, adding noise to the previously silent apartment.

“Man, all this talk of murder is depressing,” he grumbled. “I bet my beloved Celty is having a wonderful time outside.” The underground doctor pouted before he sighed and peered at the ceiling. “Ryuugamine Mikado, huh? Can’t believe Izaya-kun’s a father before me! It’s not fair! Not fair at all!”

A smirk fell on his lips.

“Well, the kid must be interesting enough for Izaya to adopt,” he said to an empty apartment. “Wonder what excitement he’ll bring to this boring city?” Laughter bubbled in the doctors’ throat. “Who knows? Maybe we’ll finally see Izaya-kun being human for once? Ha!”

Shinra bent over with mirth. “Izaya, being human? Ha! Ha! He’s no more human than I am! And that’s a small percentage of humanity, indeed.”

“Still though,” Shinra controlled his laughter and peered at the television. There was an intense guitar solo going on. “I believe Mikado-kun will bring about much delight to this town. And maybe he is the person we’ve been waiting for? The one who will finally, _finally_ show Izaya-kun what it means to love.”

“Humans constantly evolve and persevere,” Shinra murmured. “Isn’t that why you love them so, Izaya-kun? After all, despite acting in a monster-like way, you’re still a human. Despite everything that you’ve done and said, that fact will never change.”

 


	4. Kind Words on Silver Tongues // Three

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> RECAP: After venturing into Ikebukuro for advice, Izaya reveals to its’ inhabitants that he now has a son, whom he endearingly calls “Mi-chan”. Kadota Kyohei warns Izaya about involving Mikado in his games. The Yellow Scarves have been established, and Setton has informed Tanaka Taro about Orihara Izaya’s manipulative ways.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I don’t own Durarara!! No copyright infringement intended, no money is being made. All rights reserved to Ryōgo Narita. Also I apologize for any inaccuracies with the Japanese culture. I do not mean to insult/offend anyone.
> 
> This chapter may be triggering for some people. And we finally have Mikado’s point of view!! (though it’s still in third person)

* * *

 

**_Shifting Threads_ **

* * *

 

The world was a bit more peaceful when Mikado turned his attention to his English homework. The work load at Raijin Middle was rigorous which was expected of the prestigious school. His adoptive father hadn’t visited in a few days but he wasn’t bothered by that. The man had a job and a life but Mikado did miss the company. After all, he only had the nurses and doctors to speak with and they were too cheerful, too optimistic, for a hospital setting.

Mikado sighed, his fingers trembling once more, and peered out the window. Strips of sunlight poked through the grey clouds and he saw pedestrians strolling about with their multicolored umbrellas. Mikado swallowed once he heard thunder rumbling in the distance. It was raining, after all, when his front door was kicked down and his mother—

 _Stop._ Mikado told himself firmly, feeling the memory creeping at the edges of his mind. _Don’t think about it. Don’t._

The last thing he needed was to spiral into a panic attack.

A kind nurse knocked on his door and gave him a warm smile. Mikado gave her a blank stare. The woman reminded him of his mother. “Orihara-kun,” she spoke softly, as though she were dealing with a traumatized animal. In a way, Mikado supposed he was one. “You have two visitors. Do you mind the company?”

Mikado blinked and then peered down at the verbs he was supposed to translate before shaking his head. Barely did Mikado converse with the hospital staff, unless he was in therapy. The nurse smiled at him again and stepped aside to allow two smaller, but identical, twin girls inside of his room. “Be patient with him,” he heard the nurse murmur. “He’s been through a lot, okay?”

The girls’ bobbed their heads with a nod and Mikado found himself observing the odd creatures that entered his pseudo-bedroom. They wore clothes with matching, complementary colors. The twin on the right wore a dark red skirt and blue hoodie with boots whilst the twin on the right wore a blue skirt, red hoodie, and boots.

“Hello, Mikado!” chirped the twin on the right. She had glasses perched on her nose. Mikado guessed they were around his age. He blinked at them. It took too much to smile. “I’m Orihara Mairu and this is Kururi! As you can see we’re twins, and we’re your new aunts!”

He blinked. “Aunts?”

_Ah. I’m guessing they’re Izaya-san’s siblings._

“Iza-nii is your new father!” Mairu chirped. Mikado smothered the instinctive flinch at the thoughts that rose in his mind. _New_. Because his own biological father was d—

“He is also our eldest, and only, brother,” Mairu continued, as though ignorant to Mikado’s internal woes. Kururi stayed quiet and continued to analyze Mikado in her silent way. “Therefore we are your new aunties!”

Mikado furrowed his eyebrows together in confusion. “Aren’t you two younger than me?”

“Only by a year!” Mairu pouted. “We’re still your Aunts, though. By the way, you are an Orihara now.”

Mikado gave a nod, though he was still confused and a little overwhelmed by Mairu’s energy. “I am.”

“Family.” Kururi murmured for the first time in Mikado’s presence. _You are family now._

Mikado, however, didn’t know how to decipher Kururi-speak so he just made a confused sound in the back of his throat.

“Being an Orihara isn’t easy,” Mairu informed in a serious tone of voice. “Like any other elite family, we have certain expectations and public visages to put forth. We, as a whole, can be quite manipulative and deceiving to others that aren’t in the family. Hell, we’re like that to each other regardless! Despite that, we are very overprotective of family members, new and old. So expect to be swarmed in the next few days by Orihara’s; our cousins especially.”

Mikado gulped. Just what kind of family did he get adopted into?

“Motto.” Kururi said. She sat down on the edge of Mikado’s bed primly, like royalty almost. _We’ve a family motto._

“That’s right Kuru-nee,” Mairu grinned before leaning close to Mikado’s face. “We have a family motto that goes: _once an Orihara, always an Orihara._ So you can’t get rid of us that easily, Mi-kun!”

_M-Mi-kun?_

Mairu snickered as she saw his confused expression. “You see, Iza-nii calls you Mi-chan so we’re calling you Mi-kun! And you should still refer to us as your aunties!”

“Is that even normal?” Mikado questioned. “I mean, you’re younger than me and we aren’t blood related.”

“Who cares?” Mairu shrugged. “We’re an eccentric family anyway.”

Mikado fiddled with his thumbs nervously and chewed on his bottom lip. “I don’t think I’ll be able to fit in with this family. I’m too – too boring.”

“Stop. Nervous.” Kururi mumbled. _Stop your worrying. It’s making me nervous._  

“You’ll be fine,” Mairu said, waving off his worries. “Just prove you’re as fucked up as the rest of us and you’re golden!”

Mikado gulped.

“Say, what middle school has Iza-nii signed you up for?” Mairu questioned in an innocent tone. Although they’ve just met, Mikado was wary of that tone.

“Raijin,” Mikado told them. “Do you attend the same school?”

“Yes,” Kururi nodded.

“We do,” Mairu grinned but then made a face. “It’s going to be weird. Our nephew will be our senpai.”

 _I hope I won’t get teased for my name,_ Mikado thought, a tad glumly. _I don’t think I can handle being ostracized._

Mikado was pulled out of his thoughts by Kururi placing a warm, small hand on his arm. “Calm,” she whispered. _Calm your thoughts._

Mairu’s phone pinged and she shrieked a few seconds later.

“Hanejima Yuuhei is life! He is love!” she yelled before continuing in a string of incomprehensive yells. Mikado and Kururi shared an exasperated look as Mairu fangirled over one of her favorite celebrities.

* * *

 

**_Shifting Threads_ **

* * *

 

The day was peaceful and night soon fell upon Ikebukuro. Stars twinkled in the distance, the moon shone brightly overhead, and humans stalked about unaware of the two figures standing upon the rooftop of an abandoned building. One was clearly a boy, barely reaching his teens, whilst the other could be no other than a grown male. They peered at one another, apprehensive, as though comparing the others’ worth.

“Excuse me?” the timid boy spoke. “But…are you Nakura-kun?”

Nakura had a deceptive smile on his face but, to the child, it was sweet and comforting. The whispering promises that his mother once murmured in his ears. “I am,” the man said with a soft smile dancing on his lips. “Are you Sakamoto-kun?”

“Yes,” the boy — Sakamoto — replied, peering at Nakura with eyes that shone with innocence. “Sakamoto Tetsu.”

Nakura’s grin grew. “Tetsu-chan, may I call you that?”

Sakamoto’s head bobbed in agreement. “I don’t mind.”

The boy was quite cheerful considering what he came there to do.

Nakura’s eyes darkened as the chilly air billowed around them. “Tetsu-chan, tell me the truth,” Nakura said, solemn as the boy gazed at him. “Do you truly wish to die?”

“I do,” Sakamoto whispered, his gaze faraway. “There is nothing left for me in this world.”

Silence fell between them. The only sounds were background noise; a man was calling for patrons while another was yelling into their phone. Sakamoto Tetsu was only thirteen years of age, on the cusp of puberty, and already, he was disillusioned with the world and willing to die because of it. He grew up too fast, too quickly, and innocence faded from his eyes at an early age. Still, though, all of the factors left a burning taste in Nakura’s mouth.

“Come here, Tetsu-chan,” Nakura beckoned, watching how the boy eagerly obeyed his words. It would be quite easy to charm the boy into jumping off the building, whispering those enchanting words into his ears until they are his final thoughts. Despite the fact that Nakura refused to allow his personal life intermingle with his profession, he couldn’t help but see another boy replacing Sakamoto.

It made rage and possessive feelings boil underneath his skin.

Nakura wrangled it all under control, of course. He’d already predicted how this was going to go. There was no time for changing plans.

Regardless of how much he yearned for it, Sakamoto Tetsu would not die tonight.

 Once the teen was nearby, Nakura grasped his wrist and pulled him closer. They were both on the edge by then.

“Truly, you wish to die?” Nakura questioned once more.

“I do,” came the obedient reply.

“I see,” Nakura murmured, clipped, before he heaved a sigh. “You humans are all the same. So selfish. So cruel. Broken yet able to do everything in their power to sew the pieces back together. What will you do, then, if the thread becomes cut or runs out? Do you give in to despair? Or do you scourge for more materials?” Nakura threw his head back with a barking laugh. “Who knows? I certainly don’t! So predictable yet not at the same time! This is why I love them! I love humans! Did you know that, Tetsu-chan?”

Sakamoto could do nothing more than stare before he found himself being tipped over the edge of the building. Despite climbing out of that cab, certain that he was walking to his death, terror seized his heart. He began to tremble. Nakura began to laugh.

“You’re scared now, aren’t you, Tetsu-chan?” Nakura said, seemingly laughing at his plight. “Do you see that darkened stain on the ground? Countless, _nameless_ people have jumped from this very spot and that stain is all that is left of the fact that they lived. Once you die, there is nothing left except fading memories and a name. Do you understand this, Tetsu-chan? There is no turning back! No regrets! There is nothing but darkness and a corpse rotting in the ground.”

Sakamoto trembled with sobs curling in his throat. He didn’t know what to do, what to think.

Nakura’s lips turned cruel. “Do you see, Tetsu-chan?” he spoke, voice soft and gentle. “Do you see the benefits of death? There are none! Absolutely nothing! Nothing! Just darkness. Would you like to exist in a world of shadows? A world where you’re forgotten? A world as though you had never existed in the first place? Humans amuse themselves with deities and heavens but no one truly knows if it exists, if there is a place after death. What do you believe?”

“I…” Sakamoto began, his tongue drying. The look on Nakura’s face was soft, gentle, almost affectionate, but his eyes were cruel. Cold. Unfathomable. “I…”

Nakura’s smile twisted into something poisonous.

“Would Tetsu-chan like to find out?”

The boys’ eyes widened and Nakura released his grip, watching as the child fell. His arms were outstretched helplessly, as though he were frozen, and his eyes were locked onto that cruel, cruel smirk of someone he once thought of as a companion. His thoughts screeched and whirled in his mind as he descended to his death. Terror caressed his body.

He didn’t want to die.

He wanted to live.

He wanted to _breathe_.

He wanted—

Sakamoto landed on something that wasn’t concrete. In fact, he could barely feel it. Detached but curious, he saw that he was caught by mysterious, otherworldly, black tendrils that wafted from a silhouette wearing a yellow kitty helmet. It proved to be too much for his conscious to handle, and Sakamoto Tetsu lost conscious a few seconds later.

The silhouette named Sturluson Celty heaved a sigh as she gently placed the teen onto her passenger cart. She honestly didn’t expect _this_ when Izaya texted her about a courier assignment.

Footsteps approached her.

 _Speak of the devil,_ she thought as Izaya appeared before her with a benign smile. A PDA was soon shoved into his face as Celty peppered him with question pertaining to his adopted son.

_“How is Mikado-kun? Is he eating alright? Is he out of the hospital? They’re treating him properly, right? You don’t need Shinra’s expertise? How is he feeling? What d_ _—_ _,”_

“Celty, please let me answer at least one,” Izaya laughed. Celty drew back, embarrassed. Although outwardly, Izaya looked satisfied; he was stewing on the inside. Why did this _monster_ need to hold such an interest in _his_ son, _his_ Mi-chan? However, Celty was a prominent figure in Shinra’s life so Izaya had no choice but to put up with her if he wished to keep the underground doctor as an — acquaintance.

“Mi-chan is doing well, as far as I’ve checked,” Izaya informed. “He won’t be out of the hospital for a while since they still wish to evaluate him and, as far as I can check, the hospital is treating him wonderfully. I’d _destroy them_ if they weren’t.”

Celty pondered on if she should have concerning thoughts regarding the way Izaya seemed so possessive over a child he barely knew. She would have questioned it but Izaya said, “You do have a job to complete, courier-san.”

She jolted. Right! She still had things to do. Quickly, Celty bid Izaya farewell and sped away on her bike to bring Sakamoto back to his family.

Izaya sighed. Dealing with people thinned his patience sometimes. Whistling a jaunty tune, Izaya stalked the streets of Ikebukuro, peering at the nightlife strolling about. Deciding that he was quite ravenous, he made his way towards Russia Sushi. One can never have enough spicy tuna. Simon greeted him boisterously, grinning, once he entered the restaurant, and asked for a private room.

His request was granted since there weren’t that many customers milling about. Once he’s begun digging into his delicious food, he is interrupted by a mysterious girl. She’s pretty, at an aesthetic standpoint, but she is young. As in, Mi-chan’s age. She smiles at him, as though she knows things he could only dream of.

Izaya’s curiosity is piqued. What did a child have reason for seeking out an Informant?

“Hello, Izaya-san,” the child smiled at him, kneeling across the table. Izaya blinked, waiting to see what this interesting human would do. “My name is Mikajima Saki. I was told that you’d be able to make my life interesting.”

“At a price, of course,” Izaya purred.

 “Everything comes at a price,” Mikajima quipped. She had eyes that were centuries old. Her smile was prophetic. “Though I’m certain you knew that already, Izaya-san.”

There is another smile on Izaya’s lips.

A smile that has broken things, burned things, _destroyed_ worlds.

* * *

 

**_Shifting Threads_ **

* * *

 

The night is quiet in Shinjuku, not quite as lively as Ikebukuro. Izaya peered down from his large window, staring at the humans, at the way their worlds moved and revolved around one another unknowingly. A smirk of delight danced on his lips. Silence slithered around his apartment until hysterical laughter spilled out of his lips and crept through the crevices of his walls.

“Don’t you love humans? I love them! Love! So interesting and predictable! Ha! Ha! Ha! Oh, Kida Masaomi, what will you do? Your decisions will either be the strength of the Yellow Scarves or its’ weakness. Wonder what’ll happen if a love interest is placed in the foray? Ah, young love! Will you bend? Will you break? Who knows?!”

In front of the living room television, ignoring the rant that their oldest sibling was wont to do, Kururi and Mairu blinked at one another.

“Mad.” Kururi mumbled. _Oniisan is mad._

“You’re right, Kuru-nee,” Mairu agreed, nose wrinkling as Izaya let out another bout of laughter. “Iza-nii is certifiably insane at this point. I feel pity for our beloved nephew.”

“Handful,” Kururi echoed. _He’s going to be a handful for Mi-kun._

“I can _hear you_ , you devil twins!”

* * *

 

**_Shifting Threads_ **

* * *

 

Can you see it?

Can you feel it?

The world is no longer what is was supposed to be. It has changed — but for better or for worse? To take Izaya’s words: who knows?

Bloody Mary was a catalyst, causing a cosmic shift, a change in the stars, a shift in whom death was going to grasp.

Everything begins and ends with you in the middle of it, regardless of the written fate—doesn’t it seem so, Ryuugamine Mikado?

  


	5. Whispers from Concrete Mouths // Four

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> RECAP: Mikado has officially met the perplexing twins, Mairu and Kururi, and has gained an insight into the life of an Orihara. There are also strange rumors running amok in the streets of Ikebukuro. And Orihara Izaya has begun the rules of another deadly game, staring with the newly established Yellow Scarves.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I don’t own Durarara!! No copyright infringement intended, no money is being made. All rights reserved to Ryōgo Narita. Also I apologize for any inaccuracies with the Japanese culture. I do not mean to insult/offend anyone.
> 
> We meet the Orihara cousins!! I’m pretty certain everyone will recognize them once they’re introduced. Enjoy!!!
> 
> SO. Me being myself, I completely forgot that Mikado didn’t receive any broken bones from Blood Mary but I stated that he had a broken arm with Izaya’s words. I apologize for any confusion.

* * *

 

**_Shifting Threads_ **

* * *

 

_“Psst, hey, have you heard?”_

_“Yes, yes, I’ve heard of them.”_

_“Them?”_

_“Them.”_

_“Oh, I know them.”_

_“They’re new.”_

_“Fascinating, isn’t it? How they began_ _—_ _”_

_“They have no_ _—_ _”_

_“I heard that they don’t_ _—_ _”_

_“Amazing.”_

_“Terrifying.”_

_“I hear they call themselves the_ _—_ _”_

* * *

 

**_Shifting Threads_ **

* * *

 

“I’ll see you soon, Mikado-kun!” the psychologist said, smiling kind in his direction. Mikado blinked and stared, like always, with cold orbs. Patients and staff swirled around him as he trudged towards his temporary room. He hated the atmosphere in the hospital; hated how it was cheerful when he felt as though there was a dark hole gaping inside of him; hated how people still had the strength to smile when he couldn’t remember how it felt to laugh.

Mikado wondered if he could ever feel happy again. At the moment, the world was dark and oppressing. Dreary and suffocating. He sighed, entering his quiet room. It had become somewhat of a safe haven to him in a world that continued to move and thrive when he was at an impasse, inept, one foot stuck in the past.

He blinked, however, a tad surprised, when he found that his quiet room wasn’t as empty as he’d thought. There were two males in front of him and, for a split second, he thought that he was hallucinating for they looked startlingly like Orihara Izaya. Once his initial shock had worn off, however, Mikado was able to observe the subtle differences between the three. For one thing, Izaya had a signature fur-lined jacket that he wore. It was black with grey outlines. The male on the left wore a similarly styled jack but it was white with pink fur, and the male on the right wore the most peculiar outfit accompanied with thigh-high boots, a white shirt that fell mid-thigh, striped tight-fitted pants, and a brown colored – cape?

At least, it looked like some sort of cape to Mikado.

Regardless, the male wearing pink looked mischievous but innocent whereas the male on the left looked imperious and omnipresent, as though he were royalty. Mikado had no trouble imagining a crown perched atop his head.

Mairu’s words echoed in his head: _“So expect to be swarmed in the next few days by Orihara’s; our cousins especially.”_

Ah.

These two men were a part of the Orihara family, a family he was adopted into. Agony and grief squeezed his heart and, briefly, Mikado closed his eyes. He could feel his panic building, seeping into his lungs, wrapping around his heart in a vice grip. Following the advice of his late mother, he counted numbers in his mind to calm his spiraling panic. Once he felt as though he were under control, he opened his eyes and blinked at his two visitors. They blinked back, unperturbed.

“Um.” Mikado breached the silence between them as he walked further into his room, shutting the door behind him. “Who are you?”

The one in pink smiled at him. It was a bright smile but Mikado could detect that there was something hidden between those lips, something perilous. “Hello there, Mi-chan!” he greeted, boisterous, brimming with energy. “I am the lovely Orihara Psyche! And this is my quiet twin, Orihara Hibiya-chan!”

“Don’t call me -chan,” Hibiya ordered quietly.

Mikado blinked. “I-It’s nice to meet you,” he murmured before climbing into his bed. It was a tad difficult, seeing as how he was bruised and battered from the aftermath of his parents—

“Ne, Mi-chan, what’s your favorite color? Do you like sports? If you do, what do you play? Do you like literature? Do you read manga? Do you watch anime? Are you or are you not an Otaku? Would you ever cosplay? How about baking? Do you like to bake? Do you like sweets?” Psyche bombarded Mikado with question after question, letting the twelve-year-old to feel overwhelmed with the peppering queries.

Mikado turned hopeful eyes in Hibiya’s direction, wondering if he’d wrangle Psyche under control, but the male was flipping through the clipboard that held his medical information, his hypnotic eyes scanning the information. Mikado released a resigned sigh and turned his attention back towards Psyche, whom was awaiting his reply with wide eyes and an innocent smile.

Mikado felt as though he shouldn’t trust that smile. Not yet, at the very least. “I prefer green over most of the colors. I’m not an avid fan of sports but I do enjoy watching and participating in swimming. I do like literature, as well as manga and anime. I suppose I could be called an Otaku but I’ve never had anyone to cosplay with. I like sweets and I do like to bake, including cooking. Does that satisfy you?”

Psyche peered at him with wide eyes. Hibiya was still reading the content in his files.

Silence fell in the room as Psyche continued to stare, Hibiya continued to read, and Mikado was left to wonder on if he had said something horribly wrong.

Then, a shriek pierced the silence.

“Mi-chan is such an adorable addition to his boring family, better than babies!” Psyche yelled, wrapping Mikado into an embrace. “Don’t you agree, Hibi-chan?”

Hibiya gave his brother a chilling glower. “Don’t fucking call me Hibi-chan, Psyche,” he growled. Mikado blinked at Hibiya’s voice. It was elegant and authoritative, much like his appearance, and shivers crawled up and down Mikado’s spine. The male then slit his eyes in Mikado’s direction and said, stiffly, “I tolerate your presence.”

It made Mikado smile. “Thank you, Hibiya-san.”

Unfortunately, it also caused Psyche to squeeze him tighter. Mikado flailed in response; no one in his family were particularly affectionate so he truly didn’t know how to deal with this situation. “So cute!”

Hibiya sighed, exasperated. “Psyche, you are cutting off his air supply.”

“Sorry,” Psyche apologized, releasing Mikado. There was something soft yet unfathomable in the males’ eyes.

“It’s fine,” Mikado coughed, silently wondering on what that inexplicable look meant. “No harm done.”

“Mi-chan, I must give you this warning,” Psyche said suddenly, peering down into Mikado’s eyes. The previously perky male was almost uncharacteristically stern and solemn. Mikado swallowed. “Iza-chan is one of the more difficult Orihara’s to understand. He may come across as a megalomaniac or a sociopath but don’t worry, yeah? He’s a teddy bear, I promise! Patience is a high skill to be equipped when dealing with him, however.” A smile spread on Psyche’s lips. “If you have any trouble, just call me or Roppi-chan,” Psyche laughed, more like the male Mikado knew him as. “We know how to deal with the likes of Iza-chan.”

Mikado nodded obediently. _Roppi-chan? Must be another cousin._

“Izaya has a dangerous job so I prefer that you try to keep a low profile,” Hibiya murmured with quiet authority. “Though it will be quite difficult seeing as how our dear cousin has a flare for dramatics.”

Mikado blinked and stared at the two, peering at his newly acquired family members. He’d never had cousins before or aunts and uncles. It was only him and his parents. Now, however, he was the last R — Mikado pulled his mind away from those spiraling thoughts. It wouldn’t be fair to Psyche and Hibiya if he soured the mood with his emotions and grief. He smiled at them, small as it was, and promised, “I will do my best. I won’t shame this kind family.”

For they were kind. The Orihara’s barely knew him, knew of him, and yet they still pulled him into their family without hesitation, still took the time to visit him while he was strapped to a hospital bed. For a wealthy family that maintained a cold and manipulative visage, they were quite warm towards their members that bore its’ name.

Psyche pulled him into another hug unexpectedly and declared, “You’re even more lovable with your moeness!” Mikado felt himself getting bruised ribs by how tight Psyche’s arms wrapped around his torso. His ears rang once Psyche shrieked, “I can’t wait to tell Eri-chan! I must call her now! She’ll be so jealous!”

The sharp sound of a slap echoed throughout the room as Hibiya struck his kin.

“Shut the hell up, Psyche!” Hibiya griped before yanking Psyche away from Mikado once again, saving the teen from a death by hug.

Mikado’s room door opened sharply and a nurse popped her head into the room. Her lips were thinned into a line and her eyes were narrowed. She looked irritated and it showed once she chastised, “Boys! We have patients on this floor that are trying to sleep. Do keep the noise down to an _appropriate level_.”

“I apologize,” Mikado spoke with remorseful eyes. He bowed respectfully. “We’ll be quiet, Miss.”

The nurse nodded primly before making her exit.

Psyche sniffled and pouted. “That _hurt_ , Hibi-chan.”

“It was supposed to — and call me Hibi-chan again, and I’ll rip off your tongue.”

* * *

 

**_Shifting Threads_ **

* * *

 

_There is a faceless woman sitting in a room with a faceless man. The woman is drinking tea whilst the male is rustling through the newspaper. The television is a distant hum, a background noise, as rain patters against the roof. Thunder rumbles in the distance, making it clear that the storm will take a while until it passes._

_“Quite a storm, don’t you say?” the male says._

_The woman hums in agreement. “It is. I hope it doesn’t last until morning.”_

_There is a faceless child, curling up on their bed upstairs, peering at the raindrops upon his window. Thoughts swirl in his mind as he listens to the silence permeate around his room. His world is stagnant, impasse. It is black and white, boring and frigid within its’ borders. Extraordinary. That is what this boy craves, yearning for something that will breathe life into his soul._

_Something_ _—_

_The childs’ world begins to crumble and break once the front door is kicked down, and his mothers’ piercing shriek echoes hauntingly in his ears._

_“Run! Run!”_

* * *

 

**_Shifting Threads_ **

* * *

 

Mikado yawned but blinked himself awake against the glow of his laptop screen. It was a gift from Hibiya, the newest on the market. Psyche had presented a brand new phone with numbers filled in the contacts. “Family members, Mi-chan,” Psyche had informed. “I filled it all up for you! Aren’t I nice?”

Hibiya had snorted. “You’re insufferable.”

In favor of ignoring the new assignments a classmate of his had dropped off — Natsume Kiyoko, Mikado remembers, whom was average in every way possible — and Mikado had, begrudgingly, completed majority of it since he knew that it would irritate him if he ever fell behind. Now, however, despite the curfew of the hospital, he found himself emailing his childhood friend, Kida Masaomi.

> **To: Kida Masaomi**
> 
> **From: Ryuugamine Mikado**
> 
> **Subj.: Re: Hospital**
> 
> _Honestly, Kida-kun, I’m alright. It was just a tumble down the stairs. I’ll be as right as rain in a few days._

The reply took a few minutes. Mikado didn’t wish to tell Kida that his family had been murdered. Kida didn’t need that worry on his shoulders.

> **To: Ryuugamine Mikado**
> 
> **From: Kida Masaomi**
> 
> **Subj.: Re: Re: Hospital**
> 
> _If you say so, Mikado-kun! Anywho, do I have news for your innocent ears! I’ve met the most beautiful girl in the world!!! And she is interested in me! Me! The lovely angel wishes for me to be her demon in disguise! How wonderful! How poetic! She is the Juliet to my Romeo!_

Mikado felt his lips twitch in amusement as he typed out a teasing response, jokingly calling Kida’s comparisons to be equivalent to the square root of three. He felt an immense pity for the girl Kida was smitten for, knowing that she would have to be subjected to Kida’s puns and horrible jokes that were so bad, one had no choice but to laugh. Hopefully, she understood that and wasn’t after Kida for his features.

After talking for a good thirty minutes, an orderly entered his room to tell him that it was curfew. Mikado dutifully said goodbye to his best (and only) friend and closed his laptop. Soon, he was engulfed in darkness. Mikado set his laptop aside and laid down, staring at the ceiling. The grief that clutched his heart squeezed unbearably and he felt tears cling at the edges of his mind. His shoulders trembled as he quietly mourned the life that was forcibly taken away from his parents’ grasp.

It wasn’t fair.

It shouldn’t be real.

What right did Bloody Mary have in order to justify her murder?

Why was _his family_ targeted instead of another?

Why was Mikado the only survivor of her terror?

Why did he have to live when everyone else succumbed to the whisper of death?

_My world has changed, darkened, and drowned,_ Mikado thought as slivers of slumber sunk into his mind. _Can I_ _—_ _will I learn how to breathe again? How to swim? How to obtain that blinding light?_

_Or will I become the ghost of a boy I once knew?_

* * *

 

**_Shifting Threads_ **

* * *

 

_“Have you heard?”_

_“About what?”_

_“The new color gangs on the streets!”_

_“Oh! Blue Square and what else?”_

_“The Yellow Scarves.”_

_“Teenagers these days, they think the gang life is exciting.”_

_“And adventurous.”_

_“Hah! Only until someone gets hurt or killed, then it isn’t so childish anymore.”_

_“But did you hear?”_

_“Hear what?”_

_“Have they gotten into some gang fight?”_

_“Isn’t it a tad too early for such animosity?”_

_“No, no! The two color gangs, have you heard who they’re targeting?”_

_“No.”_

_“Who?”_

_“A man named Heiwajima Shizuo!”_


	6. The Fall of an Empire // Five

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> RECAP: After the introduction of mysterious whispering rumors, Mikado meets the energetic Psyche and the imperious Hibiya, two more imperative family members. Mikado gets a few more thoughts on the man that is Orihara Izaya, and we learn that Izaya’s plan with the Yellow Scarves has begun spinning.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I don’t own Durarara!! No copyright infringement intended, no money is being made. All rights reserved to Ryōgo Narita. Also I apologize for any inaccuracies with the Japanese culture. I do not mean to insult/offend anyone.
> 
> Sorry I took so long with this!!!

* * *

 

**_Shifting Threads_ **

* * *

 

In another world, his parents are alive.

In another world, he’d be living a boring existence in a boring hometown.

In another world, he would’ve never known how a single event could cause an empire to fall.

However, this is not that world.

Not anymore.

Heaving a sigh from his lips, Mikado peered out the window. Pedestrians seemed to scuttle about like multicolored mushrooms, given the fact that it was raining and umbrellas were pulled out. Whomever stated that an umbrella was similar to that of a flower obviously hadn’t seen hordes of them in one place. His room was quiet and empty, the only ones who visited him in the few days that passed since he met Psyche and Hibiya were the hospital staff. Mikado didn’t mind the quiet nor the slight isolation for it allowed him the time to mourn and, most importantly, to think.

Orihara Izaya.

It was a name that floated in his thoughts more often than not.

Everyone he had met, whether online or in real life, had varying opinions on the man that was his adoptive father. According to Setton, he was manipulative and not what he portrayed. Mikado could understand that for Izaya did seem mysterious at first glance, his cold eyes that held people in a hypnotic state. The twins – his _aunts_ (and wasn’t that still a shocking revelation; he now had aunts and cousins and _grandparents_ ) – once told him that their brother would sometimes be difficult to understand.

 _“Sometimes he only means a fourth of what he says,”_ Mairu had cheerfully told him with that slightly deranged grin of hers.

Then, Mikado was introduced to Orihara Psyche and Orihara Hibiya. They also had their own opinions regarding Izaya, seemingly closer to the male than his younger sisters. It was probably true, given that they were all the same age. Psyche gave him wise advice, told him that Izaya was difficult to understand but that he was actually a teddy bear in disguise. Hibiya had told him, succinctly, to-the-point, that Izaya obtained a dangerous job and “had a flare for dramatics”.

So.

Who was Orihara Izaya, then? Was he manipulative? A megalomaniac? A psychopath? A sociopath? A misunderstood villain that truly wasn’t even a villain? A puppeteer whom saw humans as pawns and puppets to play with?

Mikado didn’t know.

He’d only met the man once and, to him at the very least, Orihara Izaya was a bit cold and aloof, mysterious and evasive, but the man adopted him. He told Mikado that he didn’t have to go back to the town where his precious family was murdered before his eyes, told him that it was _okay_. Izaya never murmured those half-hearted condolences; there were no “I’m sorry” rolling off of his tongue. He looked at Mikado as a boy in a hospital bed, not as a broken boy that couldn’t sew himself back together.

Mikado sighed, running his fingers through his hair. He’d just have to wait, after all, until he spent enough time around the man to gain a correct grasp on his personality and behavior. He’d take into account everyone else’s selfless, considerate advice but he’ll hold off judgement until he gathered enough pieces to make whole. His eyes drifted from the darkened clouds in the sky, landing on the stack of notes and homework that had accumulated during his stay.

His classmate – Mikado felt awful that he couldn’t, for the life of him, remember her name – had dropped off more earlier and taken the worksheets Mikado had already completed. Since there was virtually nothing to do in the hospital except for therapy, Mikado managed to finish them completely. Hell, he was probably ahead of the class seeing as how his homeroom teacher thought ahead and gave him the material for the next few weeks, not knowing when he’d be able to leave the hospital.

With his homework completed, Mikado was bored out of his mind. He could turn on the television and watch reruns of _Fairy Tale_ but he didn’t feel like getting out of his bed to reach for the remote. His laptop was charging; since Mikado was on it until it died. Things were getting interesting in Ikebukuro, given the sudden renewed vigor with color gangs and overall violence, and the scattered mentions of the Headless Rider.

Within a split second, Mikado’s life had drastically changed. To keep himself somewhat sane (because, he’s honest with himself, he hasn’t been _all there_ since the night where he saw his fathers’ blood dripping from a silver kni—), Mikado split his life into two mentally.

Before and After.

Before pertains to his life up until the murder. It was a boring life filled with monochromatic days and happenstances. The most exciting thing that took place in his small town, ever since his best friend Kida Masaomi moved, was when whispers of a color gang floated through the streets. The rumors went wild in his backwater, sleeping neighborhood filled with notorious boys on motorcycles and girls who wore lipstick and tight jeans, all of them holding a weapon of some sorts.

 _“Don’t you know them, Ryuugamine-kun?”_ he would get questioned whenever he asked about the gang. He remembered feeling exhilarated at the memories because _finally, something interesting._

_“They call themselves the_ _—_ _,”_

Rumors had, obviously, died down under the oppressive threat of expulsion from the administration. Mikado remembered that there was a notice, that anyone thought of engaging in unsolicitous, illicit behavior on school grounds would be therefore expelled and turned to the police. Suddenly, the groups that were most enthusiastic about the appearance of color gangs and those that fed onto the rumors with their wild interpretations grew quiet and faded into the background until the notion of a color gang running amok became a laughable concept.

The After portion of his life is dealing with the _now_. The adoption. The Black Rider. The Orihara Family. The death of the Ryuugamine’s. The After in Mikado’s life wasn’t as pleasant as he’d liked it to be. At least there were brighter days, Mikado thought. Happier thoughts that were capable of distracting him from the darkness inside of his mind.

His new family – Psyche, Mairu, Kururi, Hibiya, and Izaya – were happy thoughts buzzing in his mind. Their mere presence in his conscious seemed to lighten his heavy soul.

Mikado’s eyes strayed back towards the darkened sky. It was as though the weather was incapable of producing sunny days ever since Bloody Mary crashed through his front door with her wild hair and disturbed smile, teeth glinting intimidatingly, and knives gripped in her hands as she slowly, achingly, tortured his parents before his eyes. It wasn’t as though Mikado could do much, seeing as how the serial killer had tied him down with a rope that irritated his skin.

All he could do was watch as she threaded that blood-stained knife through his—

“Mikado.” A voice rumbled, pulling Mikado away from his depressing memories.

Mikado blinked, feeling as though he were drenched in cold water, as he noticed a new visitor. Like all the others, this one looked eerily similar to Izaya, Psyche, and Hibiya. Did all the males in Izaya’s generation take after him? If so, Mikado would be horribly perplexed whenever there was a family get-together which, according to Psyche, happened quite often since the matriarch of the family wished to spend as much time with the family before she got too old to travel.

 _“You’ll like her,”_ Psyche had said, grinning his cheerful smile. _“She’s your Great-Grandmother but don’t let her hear you call her that. She’ll probably throw uncooked meat at you.”_

 _“Probably?”_ Hibiya had snorted.

There was a story behind that “uncooked meat” but Mikado was still uncertain if he wanted to know it.

“Um.” Mikado said, slowly gathering himself back together. “Hi.”

The male blinked at him. Out of all the cousins he’d met, Mikado thought that this one looked as though he could be Izaya’s twin – or son. They sat in silence, much like the day Mikado had first met Izaya. Once again, he didn’t mind the silence. The male was very quiet – timid almost – and, for a split second, had a disturbed gleam in his eyes but it vanished, leaving Mikado to wonder on if it had truly been there in the first place.

“I am Orihara Hachimenroppi,” the male introduced. “I already know who you are, Mikado.”

The males’ voice was soft, like a whispering lullaby in the dead of the night. Murmured promises spoken to a lover underneath crinkling sheets. The allure of an eternity, that is what his voice sounded like to Mikado. He wore a fur-lined jacket that might’ve been mistaken for Izaya’s if not for it being all black. In fact, the male wore all black. Black shirt. Black jeans. Black necklaces. Black finger gloves. He even had a few black piercings!

“Nice to meet you,” Mikado smiled invitingly. “Does Psyche-san call you Roppi-chan?”

Hachimenroppi grunted, looking irritated. “Yes. Please don’t call me that.”

“I won’t,” Mikado assured.

Silence settled around them once more. Hachimenroppi began reading a novel that Mikado couldn’t pronounce (it looked as though it were in English), and Mikado began surfing on the internet. There was an influx of rumors on the forums he was involved in about a local gang in Ikebukuro that had decided to attack some bartender by the name of Heiwajima Shizuo. The newly developed gangs – most notably, Yellow Scarves and Blue Squares – had stayed out of it, not wanting to taint their names due to their vulnerability.

The concept of color gangs (and the Headless Rider, and the man whom possessed a monster-like strength, and the Information Broker that had a smile that whispered death) intrigued Mikado, more so than before since he was going to attend school in an area with all of this activity. Most people disregarded online rumors but Mikado had been one with the internet long enough to pick apart rumors and piecing them back together to depict the truth in them.

Rumors almost always had a base of truth in their words.

“Mikado,” Hachimenroppi spoke, interrupting the silence and his internet findings. “Izaya-nii is a very delicate man and he sometimes says things that he doesn’t mean in order to gauge people’s true feelings about a certain matter.”

Mikado grew pensive before a sad smile grew on his lips. “I kind of figured he would do something like that. It’s a defense mechanism, isn’t it? It seems as though the world has broken Izaya-san, even though he refuses to acknowledge that it happened.”

Hachimenroppi peered at him. His eyes were shrewd and, to Mikado’s surprise, a little soft. “Yes,” Hachimenroppi murmured quietly. “I think you will do wonders, Mikado.”

Mikado blinked, puzzled. He opened his mouth to question the older male but Hachimenroppi waved him off by inquiring, “What do you wish to study once you’re done with school?”

* * *

 

**_Shifting Threads_ **

* * *

 

The sky was still dark but the world around them was quiet and still. It was sunset but barely could one notice its’ beauty due to the blockade of gray and black clouds. There was still a light drizzle of rain overhead. Orihara Izaya smiled invitingly, welcomingly, as he handed over a package to his client. It was brown, and a little wet, but had a red stamp of CONFIDENTIAL over its’ cover, ironically leaving no secret to its’ contents.

“There you go,” Izaya chirped. “One folder of information on the Awakusu-kai.”

The man before him gave a nod, hiding the package in his coat, and murmured a clipped, “Thanks.”

“No problem,” Izaya purred, relishing inwardly in the way the man twitched as his lips stretched into a smile that bared his teeth. “Though do be careful when involving yourself in the crime syndicates. Wouldn’t want your lovely wife coming home to your dead body.”

“Of course,” the man said, gruffly. “Have a good day.”

“You too,” Izaya smiled, eyes taunting, laughing.

The man made haste in his escape.

Izaya sighed, peering at the clouds, before leaning his shoulder against the wall beside him. “Did you find anything interesting?” he questioned to the shadow that had followed him ever since he stepped out of his apartment in Shinjuku.

The figure appeared in a slinking gait, as though a predator, and draped themselves over Izaya’s back. Their arms wrapped around Izaya’s torso and, bashfully, the figure pouted, “I was just making sure my beloved Iza-chan wouldn’t be deceived by that pitiful, nasty man.”

Izaya sighed but replied, “It is human nature to deceive others. So. Why are you really here, Psyche-chan?”

Psyche tightened his arms around Izaya, who rolling his eyes at the show of affection. Psyche was the most affectionate in the family and wouldn’t hesitate in draping himself over family members regardless of their location. It had caused a scandal back when they were first years in high school as people assumed that the two cousins were engaging in _forbidden love_.

“Ne, Iza-chan,” Psyche murmured against Izaya’s neck. Izaya shivered; it tickled and his neck was sensitive, and Psyche utilized that in every way possible. “There is something brewing in his city. I don’t like it.”

Izaya snorted softly and mumbled, “What do you like?”

Ignoring that statement, he continued, “I want it to stay away from Mi-chan,” Psyche then saw it fit to entwine their fingers together. Izaya huffed but didn’t move, knowing that the male would only get insufferable if he did, and Izaya didn’t wish to deal with Shōyō if they caused another scandal speculating their relationship. “Mi-chan is _ours_ now. He’s an Orihara. He belongs to _us_. Iza-chan should protect Mi-chan from the taint on this city.”

“I’ll do my best,” Izaya said before laughter engulfed him whole. “Someone is feeling possessive, aren’t they?”

“Hush,” Psyche whispered once the laughter subsided. “You know I’m right.”

Then, together, as the sun made way for the moon, they breathe out, “Once an Orihara, always an Orihara.”

* * *

 

**_Shifting Threads_ **

* * *

 

**_[Tanaka Taro]:_ ** _ah, seems like I’m the only one online_

**_[Tanaka Taro]:_ ** _shame. I’m so bored_

**_[Tanaka Taro]:_ ** _being in this hospital room_

**_[Tanaka Taro]:_ ** _it’s very lonely, you know?_

**_[Tanaka Taro]:_ ** _everything you love is able to slip away from your fingers w/in a breath_

**_[Tanaka Taro]:_ ** _what do you do have left?_

**_[Tanaka Taro]:_ ** _what do you do then?_

_Tanaka Taro has left the chatroom._

_There is no one in the chatroom._

_Kanra has entered the chatroom._

**_[Kanra]:_ ** _isn’t is obvious, Tanaka-kun?_

**_[Kanra]:_ ** _you learn how to live again_

_Kanra has left the chatroom._

_There is no one in the chatroom._

* * *

 

**_Shifting Threads_ **

* * *

 

Izaya scowled, peering at his computer screen, before unlocking his phone. He then dialed a number that he practically knew by heart and, interrupting their greeting, growled, “I want Mi-chan out of that hospital. _Now._ ”

The person on the other end was nonplussed. They were waiting for this call.

From behind the kitchen wall, the twins observed their brother secretly. Psyche was sitting on the counter, happily eating the blueberries that Izaya was allergic to. The twins weren’t surprised when their brother and cousin arrived home together, Psyche trying to become one with Izaya as they crossed the threshold of the apartment. Psyche tried to “become one” with majority of their family members on a daily basis so the sight of the affectionate Orihara wasn’t one to bat an eyelash at.

“Ne, Kuru-nee,” Mairu whispers. “Iza-nii is changing.”

“Nephew,” Kururi murmured. Psyche was making happy noises in the background as he opened another blueberry yogurt. _Our nephew is at fault._

“Maybe Iza-nii actually has a heart!”

Psyche snickered. “Don’t let him hear you say that.”

“Hilarious.”

“Kuru-nee! Psyche-nii! No need to be so callous.”

“Big words.”

“So mean!”

Izaya narrowed his eyes in their direction, settling on their physiques, and the twins squeaked. “You little brats! Go drool over your precious Hanejima and quit your bickering! Psyche, don’t you dare egg them on!”

“But egging people on is fun, Iza-chan!”

“Mean.”

“Iza-nii is so rude!!”

 


	7. All the Little Things // Six

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> RECAP: More snippets of Mikado’s memories, and the appearance of Orihara Hachimenroppi. Advice is given, and color gangs are discussed in thoughts. Izaya is shown given someone information on a prominent crime syndicate, and then it is revealed that Psyche was Izaya’s shadow. Psyche comments on “something brewing in this city” and his possessive feelings regarding family members are discovered. Then, afterwards, Mairu speaks/predicts of a change in Izaya.
> 
> WARNING: Panic Attack in this chapter.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I don’t own Durarara!! No copyright infringement intended, no money is being made. All rights reserved to Ryōgo Narita. Also I apologize for any inaccuracies with the Japanese culture. I do not mean to insult/offend anyone.
> 
> By the way, there has been a time skip in this chapter. Also, I apologize for taking so long with this chapter. The thrill of summer/my job has been a tad overwhelming for me. Thank you for awaiting this chapter patiently, however! 
> 
> There will be a list of all Japanese terms used in the End Notes. And I just realized I’ve been using the wrong terms for father & mother in regards to Izaya or am I not? There are so many sources that say different things and I, unfortunately, don’t have access to a primary source. Any thoughts?
> 
> And I do understand that I got Izaya’s fathers’ name wrong but I’m just too lazy to go back and change it.

* * *

 

**_Shifting Threads_ **

* * *

 

The hallways are clean but they lack the disinfectant scent of the hospital. Mikado, visibly relieved at having left the dreadful place, quietly observed the surroundings of his new home as Izaya led him down the hallway. There are only three doors on this floor, and one of them was a closet filled to the brim with cleaning supplies. Mikado was pleasantly surprised earlier when he was discharged from the hospital by a soft-smiling Orihara Izaya.

Mikado had asked, “I thought I wouldn’t be discharged for another week.”

Something unfathomable, with a touch of possessiveness, blossomed in Izaya’s eyes before a mask of cold indifference covered it, and Izaya replied, “I figured you’d be getting lonely in that bed.”

There were still many things that Mikado didn’t know about his adoptive father. He had a brief overview of his “flaws”, given to him by his so-called Aunts and cousins. However, Mikado knew nothing of the mans’ allergies, his likes and dislikes — hell, he didn’t even know the gender that Izaya preferred. Mikado never placed much emphasis on gender. If he liked someone, then he liked them. Plain and simple. It was exhausting to condemn someone for the way that they were. Mikado knew, perfectly well, how it felt to be ostracized and bullied simply because you chose to be a different color when everyone else was comfortable in their shades of black and white.

Mikado could only hope that the Orihara family — all of whom were _so kind_ — were accepting or, at the very least, tolerant, to those who had sexualities that weren’t what society deemed “normal”. Mikado shook his head, removing those thoughts from his mind. He was only twelve, and had a lifetime ahead of him to figure out what he liked.

Izaya slipped the house key into the lock. “Oh yeah,” he spoke, blinking those scarlet brown orbs in his direction. “You start school next week. I wanted you to get adjusted to Shinjuku and Ikebukuro first.”

“Thank you,” Mikado murmured as Izaya opened the door.

He heard frantic shuffling from the inside of the apartment, along with a few yelps and hushed whispers accompanying the movements. Mikado swallowed as he, slowly, edged towards the threshold. He slipped off his shoes at the entrance and, when Izaya motioned towards the cabinet, stored his shoes. There was a smirk on Izaya’s lips as the man led Mikado towards the living room. Said living room also had, to the far left, a dining room with a paper thin wall separating the kitchen. The living room also served as a partial office, given by the large desk near the windows. Mikado blinked at the sight of computers Izaya had in his possession.

There was a set of spiral stairs to the far right of Mikado that led to an inside balcony of sorts that circled around and ended near the windows. Shelves of books and plants, with a smattering of comfortable chairs, covered it. Mikado noticed a hallway right next to the stairs that, most likely, led towards the bedrooms.

Then, after a few heartbeats, the twins, with their arms spread, chorused: “Welcome home, Mi-kun!”

It was then that Mikado managed to take in the decorations covering the living room. There was a banner pinned above the windows that boldly proclaimed: MI-CHAN/MI-KUN/MIKADO-KUN IS HOME!!! There were cute characters decorated on the fabric and the notion of it all made the tips of Mikado’s lips twitch. He could, dare he say it, feel his broken, aching heart heal.

All of the family members that Mikado had met were in Izaya’s apartment but Mikado spotted three people that he didn’t know. Hachimenroppi was reading a book, comfortably sitting on Izaya’s office chair, only sparingly sending him a glance and a nod. Hibiya was restraining an excited Psyche from pouncing on Mikado, only barely managing to pin the males’ arms together, and the twins were wearing another coordinating outfit of theirs, grinning at Mikado.

“Thank you,” Mikado said. He could feel his cheeks warm. “You d-didn’t need to.”

“Nonsense,” the only other female other than the twins chided him in a warming tone. Her smile brightened her eyes. “You are family now, Mika-chan.”

Mikado blinked at her, drinking her in. The twins resembled her strongly. Maybe she was their mother? “Um.”

“Dear,” the male next to her chuckled. “You haven’t introduced yourselves.”

“Oh!” the woman said, smiling apologetically at Mikado. “I apologize. I’m so scatterbrained sometimes.”

Izaya, who was still next to Mikado, snorted quietly at that. “If you’re scatterbrained,” he muttered, “then I’m Shizu-chan’s tsuma.”

Puzzlement briefly settled around Mikado at the comment. _Shizu-chan?_

The woman grinned at him. “I am Orihara Kyouko,” she introduced gently. “Your Sobo-chan! And this grumpy man,” she jerked her thumb in the mans’ direction, snickering at the disgruntled look that descended the males face. “Is your Sofu-chan, Orihara Tsutomu.”

“Hello,” Mikado murmured in a deferential tone. His eyes then flickered towards the third figure, whom was sipping from a glass of wine. The male held some of Izaya’s traits — they had the same jawline and russet eyes, the same cold indifference — though the man held himself with the same imperious posture as Hibiya and the quiet countenance of Hachimenroppi. However, there was something that glittered in the males’ eyes, something malevolent hiding behind a façade of benevolence, that made Mikado wary of the male. Not even Psyche made him feel this way, and Mikado was quite aware of the fact that Psyche may not be “all there” in terms of mental stability.

“Pleasure to meet you, Mikado-san,” the male said as he walked up to Mikado in a slow, slinking gait. It reminded him of a perilous predator. A feline lurking after her prey, masking herself in the surrounding shadows. “I am Orihara Shōyō, another cousin of yours.”

Mikado nodded his head respectfully. “Hello, S-Shōyō-san.”

Shōyō peered at him with a cold gaze not-so different than the others in the family. “Polite,” he commented. “A wonderful change from the rest of my generation.”

“Oi!” Psyche yelped, pouting. “That was mean, Sho-chan!”

Shōyō rolled his eyes. “It is but the truth, Psyche.”

Psyche then pulled Shōyō into an argument, protesting as though righteously offended, whilst Hibiya had stepped back, sighing with exasperation at the exchange. The twins watched with rapt attention as they stood as close to one another as humanely possible. Mikado blinked and felt his limbs begin to tremble with exhaustion. Izaya didn’t seem to have a car — which was understandable given the bullet trains and walking distance — so they both had to suffer through a train ride from Saitama to Tokyo, and then through a traffic jam on the way to Izaya’s apartment.

It was just their luck that the elevator in the complex had stopped working.

And the fact that Izaya lived on one of the top floors with the more expensive renters.

Izaya had taken it all in stride, the smile never leaving his face as they straggled up the steps with other residents. Mikado would go as far as to say that he wouldn’t be surprised if Izaya had a hand in the elevator not working.

Izaya’s sharp eyes took note of the way Mikado subtly trembled, most likely trying to hide his exhaustion in order to not “be a burden”. Over the arguing tones of Shōyō and Psyche, both of whom could argue for decades upon end, Izaya leaned closer to Mikado and murmured, “It’s alright if you need to sit down. We walked up many flights of stairs, after all.”

Kyouko — or, rather, his _grandmother_ — noticed his trembling limbs and ushered him into a chair. “Sit, sit,” she said before taking a seat next to him. Mikado noticed that his _grandfather_ was discussing something with Hachimenroppi in quiet tones. Izaya had stayed where he was, watching the argument in waves of amusement. Hibiya looked ready to strangle both Shōyō, Psyche, _and_ Izaya.

“So, Mika-chan,” his grandmother spoke. “How are you feeling?”

The woman had a gentle aura surrounding her. She looked harmless, as though she could never harm a fly. Mairu’s advice floated inside of his mind once again: _“We, as a whole, can be quite manipulative and deceiving to others that aren’t in the family. Hell, we’re like that to each other regardless!”_

Right.

Mikado could not take everything at face value anymore. This wasn’t a small town where everyone knew everyone’s grandmother, where things were black-and-white, where things deemed different were crucified. This was the city life. This was a _different life_. Mikado could feel himself get overwhelmed, feel his panic rising, his thoughts drowning.

He focused on his grandmother, the woman looking patient as she waited for him to reply. “I’m doing all right, I suppose,” Mikado replied quietly. His eyes were blank and cold. Kiyoko pondered, briefly, on how Mikado would look with life sparking in them. “Considering everything, I could be worse.”

“You could,” his grandmother agreed. She gave his hand a gentle squeeze. “Well, I’m only a phone call away if you need me, Mika-chan.”

Mikado nodded.

“Kyouko,” his grandfather called. “We’ve a board meeting.”

His grandmother crinkled her nose but nodded, regally rising from the chair. Suddenly, Mikado knew where Kururi received her imperial grace from.

“Shōyō,” his grandfather said.

Immediately, Shōyō retracted his verbal claws and, after a stiff nod, walked after the departing figures. There was a slight pause as the three exited Izaya’s home as though they’d never been there in the first place. Once the door clicked shut behind Shōyō, a certain heaviness in the room had lightened. Mikado wondered on it but decided that it was, most likely, a long background story.

“Iza-chan,” Psyche cooed, inching closer to Izaya. “I think I’m going to move in.”

“No,” Izaya denied. “I forbid it.”

“Ooh. Such strong vocabulary, Iza-chan.”

Izaya gave a sigh that foretold of his suffering. A bubble of mirth brewed in the pit of Mikado’s stomach. Before anyone could say another word, Mikado had stood. Their eyes trained on his silhouette. “May I go to my…um…room?” he inquired.

Izaya smiled. “Of course. It’s down that hallway, and on the far right. The last door.”

Mikado nodded and, briskly, made his way towards his — _bedroom_. The anxiety was creeping up his sides, slowly inching forward, and it made something cold churn in his stomach. The mirth was all but gone from Mikado’s system. He closed his door behind him, hearing the slightly muted actions of one Orihara Psyche, and observed his room. It wasn’t frustratingly small like his old bedroom and was generously large. If Mikado hadn’t of known that this was an expensive suite, he’d of thought that Izaya had given him the master bedroom.

 _Everything is so new,_ Mikado thought. _The world is cruel but the people_ _—_ _some of them, at least_ _—_ _are very kind. Still. This is overwhelming._

The walls were white and bare for him to decorate. There was a computer desk tucked away in a corner, a wooden-paned window, and a queen sized bed settled against the wall. There were two double doors to the left of him and, when Mikado investigated, found it to be his closet. Sparse clothing was in there. Mikado swallowed, feeling his fingers quiver, and sat down beside his bed. Sometimes, Mikado found the floor to be more comfortable than a mattress.

 _“Let me move in!”_ Mikado heard Psyche exclaim. _“I promise to behave Iza-chan! I’m potty-trained and everything! Ask Hibi-chan!”_

_“No! No! And no!”_

_“Don’t fucking call me Hibi-chan, otōto.”_

_“So mean! Roppi-chan is my favorite now!”_

Mikado couldn’t find it in him to be amused by their actions. His anxiety flared and swirled around his neck, grasping like choking fingers. Mikado closed his eyes, grateful that he had managed to survive the ordeal for so long without cracking. There was only so much pretend that a human could play before they, inevitably, broke and shattered.

Mikado hated shattering. It took too long to gather his pieces together. Took too long to maintain his bearings. He trembled quietly, on the floor, as he desperately fought against the anxiety that threated to drown him whole. It wouldn’t be pleasant, after all, if he was discovered mid-panic attack. Anxiety wasn’t new for Mikado. For as long as he had lived, he always had it. Before Bloody Mary, he had taken medication for it, even. If only on the insistence of his mother, who had been burdened with anxiety as well.

His door opened quietly.

Another bought of panic swallowed Mikado at the mere notion of someone watching the attack.

His mother understood what he went through. His father, however, had not. The man tried to understand but, in the end, couldn’t. There were many days during Mikado’s childhood where his father would sternly tell him that there was nothing to be worried about _so can you stop crying about every little thing?!_

However, Mikado would do anything (he would s _ell his soul_ ) if it meant that he could hear his father’s voice once more, gravelly from years of smoking cigarettes, or smell the perfume his mother favored or feel their embrace whenever they comforted him from another day spent friendless or hear their laughter as they failed at ballroom dancing in the middle of the living room or saw them live with their quiet, but passionately burning, love.

Mikado would do anything to see his birth family once again.

But it wasn’t possible.

Because they _were dead._

_His parents no longer existed._

Mikado choked on a harrowing sob, squeezing his eyes tighter against the tears. He had cried enough. He had mourned softly for them. Yet it didn’t seem to be enough. Nothing seemed to be enough anymore. His shoulders trembled violently as Mikado desperately tried to swallow his sobs and anxiety. The panic wasn’t helping him. In fact, it made him feel worse as memories rose to the front of his mind, forcing Mikado to remember all of those little things.

He could feel himself spiraling further, drowning deeper, but Mikado noticed the two bodies of warmth that pressed against his side. Faintly, he could hear the soft tones of Mairu and Kururi as they slowly aided him in calming down to a degree where he was, at least, coherent.

“S-S-S-Sorry, I—,” Mikado spluttered. “I-I’m s-so s—,”

“Shh,” Kururi hushed him gently. “Quiet. No need.”

Mikado swallowed another sob.

Mairu was uncharacteristically silent as she gripped Mikado’s hand. Mikado noticed, then, that the twins were deliberately slowing their breathing in an effort to get Mikado to copy them as a means to calm down. A few more minutes crept by, feeling as though they were centuries, until Mikado wrangled his anxiety down to a more appropriate level that he could deal with. Gently pulling his hand from Kururi’s grasp, he wiped his face from the few stray tears that had managed to escape and sniffled. Psyche’s boisterous laughter reverberated around the apartment, the murmurs of the living room television flickering on.

“Thank you,” Mikado croaked.

“No problem,” the twins chorused.

Mikado cleared his throat. “You two seem to know what to do?”

“I have a panic disorder,” Mairu explained quietly. “Mother seems to be the only one in the family that knows, besides Kuru-nee of course. She was the one who took us to the doctors.”

“Social anxiety,” Kururi said. _My twin has social anxiety._

“Correct!” Mairu beamed, a reminiscent look in her eyes. “I was diagnosed with social anxiety when I was but a mere eight-year-old damsel! Mother dearest always thought it’d be Kuru-nee but Kuru-nee is just quiet. She may not like people but she doesn’t mind socializing if that makes sense to you.”

“It does,” Mikado said. Anxiety was different for everyone and, despite stereotypical beliefs and connotations, those who preferred quietness didn’t necessarily have a type of panic disorder or had problems with social interactions. “Thank you,” Mikado repeated, as though he hadn’t before.

The twins smiled at him. Mairu wrapped her arms around him in a comforting manner and Kururi murmured, “You’re not alone anymore, Mi-kun.”

* * *

 

**_Shifting Threads_ **

* * *

 

The twins were attached to his arms as they strode through the streets of Ikebukuro. Mairu pointed out certain shops and restaurants with Kururi piping her monosyllabic quip. Mikado was beginning to understand the way Kururi spoke. They’d already showed him the multiple shortcuts one could take to their school, and were now showing him the popular hangout spots. The crowd hummed around him and Mikado had to control himself from gaping at the skyscrapers and bright lights that flooded his vision.

Mairu unleashed a strangled sound in the back of her throat and untangled herself from Mikado before dashing off. She slipped through the crowd easily and, still beside him, Kururi sighed.

“Nuisance.” Kururi said. _Mairu is a nuisance._

“Um.” Mikado frowned, vainly trying to spot Mairu and her bubblegum pink hoodie. Worry began to grip him. “Is she alright?”

“Fine.” Kururi assured. “Idol.” _She’s fine, just obsessing over her idol._

“Ah,” Mikado murmured, remembering the way Mairu freaked out over a man named Hanejima Yuhei. Flashes of yellow and blue apparatus caught his attention. Mikado paused, turning, and his eyes trained on the handfuls of teens wearing those colors; barely did they look older than he was, some looked younger actually! Others in the crowd took note of them, clucking their tongues disapprovingly or hissing at their neighbors.

 _“It’s them! Do you see_ _—_ _,”_

_“Yes, yes, I see!”_

_“Shh! You don’t want their leader to hear us, d’ya?”_

_“Look at them!”_

_“….Yellow Scarves…”_

_“….Blue Square…”_

_“Ne, ne, have you heard?”_

_“There’s a new color gang!”_

_“They don’t have_ _—_ _,”_

 _“They’re called_ _—_ _,”_

 _“Oddest name, it’s_ _—_ _,”_

Mikado blinked, pulling himself away from the whispers of the crowd, and noticed that Kururi had slipped away from him. Most likely, she charged after her twin. Who knew what sorts of mischief Mairu could stir on her own? For a while, he drifted with the crowd but didn’t dare explore the backstreets and alleys. Who knew what he’d find? Reds, oranges, and purples streaked the sky, signaling that the sun was about to make way for the mon, and Mikado found himself entering a store that mainly sold anime and manga merchandise.

He was in desperate need of something light and fluffy and _happy_.

Striding towards the manga section — which had been peculiarly empty, from what Mikado could see — Mikado walked down an aisle and paused, blinking at the sight he witnessed. There was a group of four idling down the aisle that comprised mostly of shōjo manga but two of the four, a boy and girl respectively, were wreaking havoc with the manga, chattering excitedly about new releases and old versions with a steadily growing pile at their feet.

The other two were peering at them with exasperation though one was more focused on an idol magazine, sighing about Hijiribe Ruri.

Despite the fact that he was about to walk towards two hurricanes, Mikado stepped forward and, hesitantly, asked, “Can you move please?” the two storms paused, blinking in his direction. Mikado swallowed his anxiety and the way their gaze made him want to run away. “I’m in need of a new s-story.”

The group of four stared at him in silence. Mikado suspected that no one had dared to interrupt the two in their previous frenzy before, given how the manga section was all-but deserted. Should Mikado take that as some sort of warning?

 _Oh God,_ Mikado thought as they continued to stare. _Why are they staring?_

After a few minutes, the two obliged and stepped aside, allowing Mikado to enter the danger zone and search for a new story.

As Mikado browsed the options before him, the only girl in the group asked, “What’s your name? What genre do you read? Have you read shōnen-ai or y—,”

“Erika, not this again,” a boy wearing a bandana (or was that some sort of scarf? Mikado wondered. Headdress?) groaned, rubbing the side of his face in exasperation.

“They are excellent questions, Dotachin!”

His lips twitched at the nickname but Mikado focused on grabbing a manga that looked lighthearted enough. _Gekkan Shōjo Nozaki-kun_ was the title. He turned and blinked, realizing that he hadn’t responded to the questions, and, despite his long _er_ name now, said, “O-Orihara-Ryuugamine Mikado. It’s nice to meet you.”

The aisle descends into silence. Mikado isn’t sure if it’s good or not and tenses, certain he’d have to run. Hibiya had told him before that Izaya had a dangerous job, and Setton spoke of an intense rivalry with another man. Perhaps this group could be counted as antagonists of some sort?

Then the girl shrieked, “Mika-chan! Iza-Iza didn’t inform us of your love for manga!”

Mikado blinked, whispering, “Mika-chan?” before, in a louder voice, said, “Wait, you know Izaya-san?”

The boy reading the magazine murmured, “Oh, we know him alright.”

Mikado didn’t know how to take that sentence. Maybe there was a history there?

“I’ve known him since high school,” the boy wearing the bandana said. “The names Kadota Kyohei.”

“Karisawa Erika!”

“Yumasaki Walker at your service!”

“Togusa Saburo.”

Mikado nodded his head. “Pleasure to meet you all.”

“So do you just read shōjo?” Yumasaki questioned.

“Ooh, ooh,” Karisawa jumped in before Mikado could answer. “I have some doujins to recommend—,”

Before Karisawa could continue, her mouth was covered by Kadota’s hand as he hissed, “Do not destroy his innocence. Izaya will _kill you_.”

Mikado blinked, confused at the interaction, but explained, “I don’t prefer one genre to the other. If the premise is interesting enough then I’ll read it.”

_Why would Izaya-san kill Karisawa-san over a few doujinshis’?_

“Do you cosplay?” Yumazaki questioned, pulling Mikado away from his thoughts.

Mikado shook his head. “I never really had anyone to cosplay with.”

His statement had set off the two Otakus into shrieking about plans and costumes and characters. Briefly, Mikado wondered on why they hadn’t been kicked out of the store yet. _Then again,_ he thought as he peered at the group before him. _Maybe there is more to this group than meets the eye._

His phone pinged in his pocket. Mikado scrambled to answer it but fumbled with the keys since he wasn’t quite used to having access to a mobile but, after a minute or so of frantic fingers, managed to answer the call from his adoptive father. “H-hello—,”

 _“Mi-chan.”_ Came the voice on the other end. There were many things hidden in in Izaya’s voice; stories untold and broken bridges and destroyed homes. There were unfathomable components, things that Mikado couldn’t guess, but what he did recognize was the familiar growl of protectiveness. Something warm flickered in Mikado’s stomach. Back in his hometown, nothing happened and Mikado was prone to spending time inside of his bedroom than outside with his classmates. There was no reason for his parents to be overprotective over his wellbeing. _“Where are you? Kururi said that she lost sight of you when Mairu ran off.”_

“I’m fine,” Mikado replied as he stared down at the novel in his hands. “I’m in a bookstore.”

There was a dangerous, _“with?”_

A shiver curled at the base of his spine. “A group of four,” Mikado informed quietly. Karisawa and Yumasaki were twirling in a circle as they chanted something. “Kadota Kyohei—,”

Izaya cut him off with a cheerful, _“Oh? You’re with Dotachin? Good, good. Now, Mi-chan, you must get home before dark, ok? Ikebukuro and Shinjuku aren’t safe during the dark.”_

Mikado blinked but, obediently, said, “Ok, Izaya-san, I will.”

His curiosity flared once the call ended. Kadota caught his eye and asked, “You want to grab a bite?”

Overhearing, Karisawa yelled, “Russia Sushi!”

Mikado nodded. “Sure.”

_There is something brewing in this city, in this town where no one sleeps. What is normal and what is not?_

* * *

 

**_Shifting Threads_ **

* * *

 

 

> **RANT 689 – NEW STUDENT!!!**
> 
> _Hey everyone!! It’s your favorite blogger here with news of a new student joining my lovely classroom. They’ve been in the hospital recently, had some freak accident I suppose, but I hear that he’s really cute!!! I wonder what he’s like. Does he like to read? Write? Is he a loner? Does he make his own bentos or will he buy lunch from the canteen? What are his favorite subjects? Ooh, I bet he’s a gentle soul that likes literature or maybe he’s some math genius_ _—_ _wouldn’t it be wonderful if he was as interested in the internet as me?!? AHH. My mind can’t take it, I swear, all of my thoughts revolve around him. I can’t help but think of his eye color, of his height, of how he looks. Will he be a sweetheart or will he be some pompous idiot? Will he like sports or will he find comfort in the library?_
> 
> _Who knows?!?!_
> 
> _I can’t wait until next week!!_
> 
> _Best wishes,_
> 
> _little dreamer_
> 
> **you have (1) new comment**
> 
> **_“lol. You sound like you’re obsessed with this kid.”_ **

* * *

 

**_Shifting Threads_ **

* * *

 

“I’m back,” Mikado called softly as he put his shoes in the cabinet and closed the door behind him. The apartment was quiet, and Mikado wondered on where everyone went. Balancing the bags of his purchases on his arms, Mikado made his way towards Izaya. Glasses were perched on the mans’ nose as he filed some information.

Izaya glanced up and smiled. “Welcome home, Mi-chan,” he said. “How was Ikebukuro?”

“Very – different,” Mikado replied, ignoring the small voice in the back of his mind that whispered _extraordinary_ , and lifted up a smaller bag. “I got you some ōtoro from Russia Sushi.”

Delight and surprise lit Izaya’s eyes as he grasped the bag. “Ah. You’ve met Simon, then?”

Mikado nodded. “I have. He’s very – kind.”

“That he is,” Izaya said, opened the container. Anticipation glittered in his eyes. Mikado was pleased that he _finally_ knew something that Izaya liked. “Still, however, be careful, okay?”

Mikado furrowed his eyebrows, confused but curious. They weren’t exactly good combinations sometimes. He could hear the twins — or, rather, Mairu — shrieking at the top of their lungs with echoes of Psyche’s laughter. Mikado then noticed that Hibiya was quietly eating food at the table and Hachimenroppi had moved towards the living room couches, scowling at hearing Psyche.

There was something unfathomable in Izaya’s eyes.

“People are sometimes not what they seem in the city of Ikebukuro.”

Mikado nodded before making his way towards his bedroom. The door clicked quietly behind him and he placed his new purchases on the desk. The moon shined brightly in the sky as Mikado peered outside of his window.

 _How_ _—_ _fascinating._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> tsuma = wife  
> sobo/obaa = grandmother  
> sofu/ojii = grandfather
> 
> And, according to Psyche AND Mikado, this are brewing in the city of Ikebukuro. How'd you like this chapter??? Can you feel the building suspense yet or no?


	8. A Disarming Smile // Seven

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> RECAP: After getting released from the hospital, Mikado meets a few more members of the Orihara family: Izaya’s infamous parents, and the Heir of the Family, Shōyō. Roaming the streets of Ikebukuro, the twins abandon Mikado accidentally for Hanejima Yuuhei, and Mikado wanders into a store for manga and anime before meeting the Otaku Gang — Karisawa Erika, Kadota Kyohei, Yumasaki Walker, and Togusa Saburo. Izaya’s overprotective and possessive feelings are slightly revealed during a worried phone call, and Mikado heads off to Russia Sushi where he meets Simon. And a new blogger is introduced, “little dreamer”.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I don’t own Durarara!! No copyright infringement intended, no money is being made. All rights reserved to Ryōgo Narita. Also I apologize for any inaccuracies with the Japanese culture. I do not mean to insult/offend anyone.  
> Enjoy!! I hope you have as much fun reading this story as I have writing/planning it!! 
> 
> OMG.   
> I haven’t written in like a month, I apologize!!!
> 
> I’ve been visiting universities and applying for early admission (and don’t get me started on scholarships), and preparing for a family reunion (as well as planning my eighteenth birthday) so I haven’t had much time to actually sit down and breath. (And I’ve recently gotten obsessed with the V:LD fandom), AND I just started my senior year of high school and, yeah, you know how that goes already lol.
> 
> Enjoy!

* * *

 

**_Shifting Threads_ **

* * *

 

The next day found a certain twelve-year-old roaming the thrumming streets of Ikebukuro in an attempt of familiarization. Mikado tried his best not to bump into others on the crowded sidewalks and kept to himself as he eyed the restaurants and the stores. Izaya had given him some pocket money once Mikado hesitantly asked over breakfast if he could head into Ikebukuro.

“Sure, Mi-chan,” Izaya had said. “I have business in Ikebukuro as well so we’ll head there together.”

They both took the train and went their separate ways, though Izaya had warned Mikado from straying away from crowds and into back alleys. “Ikebukuro is not a sleeping town, Mi-chan, so be careful, yeah?”

Mikado had nodded, taking careful note of the warning. “Yes, Izaya-san.”

Like the good, obedient child his ( _dead_ ) parents praised him to be, not once did Mikado stray away from the thrumming crowds of Ikebukuro. His eyes mapped out the center of the thriving city, where Russia Sushi reigned, and he took note of the neighborhoods and cramped apartments, of all the crevices where people disappear inside of within the blink of an eye.

He ate lunch at Russia Sushi, and conversed with an amiable Simon, as well as replying to Kida’s emails where he wrote sickeningly sweet proses over a girl he called Saki-chan, and texting the twins, who were curious over where he went. With a sated appetite, Mikado languidly strolled out of the restaurant and turned in the direction of the little park he’d seen earlier. The park was medium sized, but it had fountains and had a kind presence wrapping around it.

As Mikado walked, his mind wandered. His mind always wandered nowadays. The phantom grip of grief still seized him whenever he was caught unawares. Things as simple as the scent of cherry blossoms or a deep laughter on the television would send Mikado sprawling headfirst into memories he wished would stay in a tightly locked box. Memories of a mother who danced whenever she made blueberry pancakes from scratch, or of a father who whistled a catchy tune whenever he went off to work, lovingly kissing his wife and son goodbye, or of two small children trekking into the backyard woods with sticks thought to be swords.

The world was exciting then, in that sleeping town. When they were children, the silliest of amusements were deemed Exotic, and adventures never seemed to run out. But then Kida moved away, and that sleeping town grew boring and drab. Everything was predictable — reactions, responses, emotions. What once was a colorful world had grown dark and depressing, bleached white and a baleful grey.

But then Bloody Mary entered the scene, and the black-and-white town was thrown into disarray. Curfew was established, no one littered the streets after nine, and people locked their doors tightly but she still slipped inside. Tensions grew as the town mourned the dead, and the count kept rising until the day Bloody Mary swirled inside the Ryuugamine household as though she were a hurricane, with her malicious, blood—

 _Stop thinking about it,_ Mikado told himself sternly. Perhaps forcing himself to forget the traumatic event that took his parents’ life (and made him into a ghost) wasn’t the healthiest of coping mechanisms, but it was something, and it worked. It did wonders to Mikado’s psyche, seeing as how he allowed himself to think of those thoughts in the dead of the night where no one would flutter around him as he mourned for a life he’d never have again.

Mikado had yearned for an exciting life, wishing on many stars.

Bloody Mary whirled into his life, and granted his wishes.

Shaking himself, Mikado crossed the street to reach the park. As he did so, his ears caught on to the murmuring mouths around him.

_“Have you heard_ _—_ _,”_

_“_ _—_ _yes, yes, about that incorrigible_ _—_ _,”_

_“The Yellow Scarves_ _—_ _,”_

_“Blue Square_ _—_ _,”_

_“_ _—_ _a man named…”_

_“Heiwajima Shizuo.”_

Mikado would’ve paused at hearing that familiar name but seeing as how he was crossing the street, he hadn’t. The last thing he wanted was to end up in the hospital bed only a few days after his dispatch. _I’ve heard that name quite a few times,_ Mikado thought to himself, eyebrows furrowing, curiosity perking. _He seems to be quite the character._

The park came into view as Mikado rounded a corner. However, as he rounded that corner, his eyes caught on to conspicuous flashes of yellow and blue garments. He blinked, nearly goggling, at the handfuls of teens not much older than him standing in clumps together, wearing yellow or blue, and glaring spitefully at the other. The Yellow Scarves and Blue Square.

_Fascinating._

The sky was a jovial blue with fluffy white clouds that reminded Mikado of cotton candy. Ikebukuro was providing Mikado with such excitement, he nearly forgot _why_ he was there. And yet, how could he? How could he forget the day a murderer entered his home, and tortured his parents before his eyes as he tried to get out of his confines? How could he forget the way his mother sobbed in agony, the way his father’s blood seeped onto the floor? How could he forget the way their eyes showed their pain, their desperation, their terror?

How could anyone forget that?

That was the catch.

They couldn’t.

Mikado was haunted by his past — but wasn’t he too young to even _have_ a past besides smiling memories drifting in his twelve-year-old mind? Yet Mikado wasn’t a regular twelve-year-old child. He’d never had been, not with his fascination of the extraordinary. He was deemed average in everything except his curiosity, which was insatiable once he found something interesting enough to scope out.

He yawned but, for a split second, glimpsed a familiar face. Mikado’s heart leaped to his throat as he murmured, “Kida-kun?” and his mind whispered, _that’s right. Kida-kun moved to Ikebukuro, didn’t he?_

In all the chaos, Mikado had earnestly forgotten the name of the city in which his childhood friend lived in.

But the boy was gone, swallowed by the thrumming crowds, and Mikado grasped his bearings, moving along. It wouldn’t be nice to block traffic on the already congested sidewalks. Entering the peaceful park, Mikado had immediately found a comfortable spot underneath a cherry blossom tree. Slumping against the base of the trunk, Mikado pulled out one of the new manga’s he’d bought a few days ago when he bumped into Kadota and his friends.

Mikado is deep in the novel — about twenty or so pages in — when the serene air of the park shatters. Shouts and shrieks echo in his ears, and a heavy air of malevolence stretched over the park with its’ cleanly cut grass and sparkling water fountains. His heart thumped wildly, rattling against his lungs, piercing his ribcage, as he startled by the noise. An ache began to settle deep in his chest as he remembers shrieks — remembers the sound of his mothers’ piercing cries, the sound of Bloody Mary’s tinkling laughter, the sound of his father choking on his own blood that bubbled in his throat.

Slapping his cheeks, the roar quieted. His heart was still in his throat, growing almost poisonously with his thunderous emotions, but Mikado was able to grasp his bearings. It wouldn’t do to spiral in a panic while in public view. He didn’t wish to tarnish the Orihara name.

Observing the park from his tree, Mikado noticed a crowd of intoxicated men. They were surrounding another male — though this one looked younger, skinnier, and extremely effeminate in a way that Mikado wasn’t entirely sure that they were a male — and terrorizing them with catcalls, slurred pickup lines, and perverted glances and innuendos. It was bright outside, so Mikado wondered why they were drunk. Outraged and disgusted mothers pushed their children in the direction of the exit, grumbling about drunkards and “this is a family park!”

Most watched the scene with morbid fascination, either too indifferent or too scared to do anything that would help the poor soul.

 _“What? Are you sure you aren’t a female?”_ one of them questioned, their voice a bellow.

The male blinked and scowled, _“Leave me alone. I am a man.”_

 _“I still think you’ve something wet between your legs,”_ sneered another.

 _“You’re too pretty to be a man!”_ one of them in the back shouted.

A look of resignation settled on the male’s face. Bystanders peered on, looking offended and scandalized. Mikado pondered on that — if they’re so offended then why aren’t they helping? Mikado couldn’t do much to help. What could he do? Nothing, that’s what. He was a stick of a twelve-year-old with zero athletic ability — hell, he couldn’t do anything to help his parents because he, himself, was paralyzed by fear, and could only watch as Bloody Mary destroyed his life at the seams, removing the stiches one limb at a time.

Mikado blinked, pushing those poisonous thoughts out of his mind, and accidentally locked eyes with the male (who was still getting harassed). An innocuous thought strayed into his mind.

_He looks a lot like Hachimenroppi-san…_

The Hachimenroppi-look-alike gave him a warm smile (one that stole his breath because that smile reminded him of Psyche) as they locked eyes. The resemblance to the Orihara’s was uncanny, and Mikado was wondering on if this was another cousin he’d never met. He wondered on how many family members were in the Orihara family, and if he’d be able to remember all their names.

Before the heavily intoxicated men could do anything else, policemen had escorted them out of the park. One stayed behind to apologize to the boy, looking deeply troubled.

 _“I truly apologize for those raucous men,”_ the officer said, bowing. _“Is there anything I can do for you?”_

A warm smile was on the boys’ lips as he said, _“Be at ease, officer. I do not require anything else from you, just my thanks for your help.”_

The officer flushed at the gentile words floating off the boys’ tongue. Bowing once more, the officer scuttled after his comrades. Bystanders soon drifted away too, now that there was nothing interesting happening. The boy made his way towards Mikado — his moves were gracefully fluid to the point where Mikado was skeptical of if his feet touched the ground.

The boy crouched in front of Mikado. Up close, Mikado noticed that the boy looked _too_ identical to Hachimenroppi for it to be brushed off as a coincidence.

“Are you, perhaps, Iza-nii’s son, Mi-chan?” the boy inquired politely.

Mikado nodded, blinking. “I am. And you?”

“Orihara Sakuraya,” he said. “Just call me Sacchan.”

“O-okay,” Mikado murmured, eyes falling down to his book.

Sakuraya gave him a kind smile and asked, “Do you mind if I sat here next to you?”

Mikado shook his head. “No, I don’t mind. I was just reading a manga.”

Quirking an eyebrow in curiosity, Sakuraya questioned, “Oh? What genre of manga do you normally read? I, myself, am more partial to the lighthearted and comedic genre for I think everyone deserves a good laugh.”

“I don’t mind any genre but I don’t think I’ll enjoy reading horror anymore,” Mikado replied. He’d never liked horror regardless, since he’d find himself getting too attached to the characters despite knowing that they wouldn’t make it in the end. Almost everyone died in the horror genre.

“I see.” Sakuraya’s eyes darkened slightly with realization. Quiet settled between them but it wasn’t unnerving. Actually, Mikado found the silence to be quite comforting — like he could bask in the warmth that Sakuraya provided for eternity or create a security blanket out of the comfort that he felt in that moment and wrap it around his shoulders until it became one with his skin. However, the silence was shattered by Sakuraya’s gentle question of: “So how what do you think of our family so far?”

Something that was a smile but still quite wasn’t it spread on Mikado’s lips. “Your family is warm,” he said with cold eyes that told a thousand stories, whispered words in Sakuraya’s ears.

Sakuraya snorted softly. “We’re not that warm, Mi-chan.”

“I disagree,” Mikado murmured but then shrugged. “You’re entitled to your own opinion, Sakuraya-san. You have been an Orihara far longer than I have.”

Sakuraya frowned, pursing his lips in pensive thought. “Mi-chan, why do you think our family is—,”

Their conversation was interrupted by the shrill ringtone of Sakuraya’s phone. He huffed, recognizing the tone that was specifically for one Orihara Psyche. Answering, Sakuraya said, “Hello?”

Despite the phone being pressed against Sakuraya’s ear, Mikado could hear Psyche’s hysterical, dramatic yells from the other end. _“SACCHAN! SACCHAN! IT’S HORRIBLE SACCHAN, ABSOLUTELY HORRIBLE! DEVASTATING! EARTH-SHATTERING! SACCHAN!”_

Unfathomable emotions swirled in Sakuraya’s eyes as he sat upright, alert and alarmed. “What?” he said. “What’s going on, P—,”

 _“SACCHAN – SACCHAN – MI-CHAN IS MISSING!!”_ Psyche shrieked. _“I REPEAT – OUR BELOVED MI-CHAN HAS GONE OFF THE CHARTS!! WHAT IF HE’S BEEN KIDNAPPED BY THE YAKUZA? WHAT IF HE’S BEEN KIDNAPPED BY PERVERTS?!? SACCHAN, YOU MUST USE YOUR HACKING SKILLS TO_ _—_ _,”_

Delicate laughter spilled out of Sakuraya’s lips though he did his best to muffle them once he heard Psyche’s indignant yelps and whines. Clutching his stomach, shoulders trembling from mirth, Sakuraya informed, “Mi-chan is right next to me, Psyche-chan —,” Sakuraya turned to Mikado and motioned for him to say something. “— say something, Mi-chan. Just a simple ‘hi’ will do.”

Sakuraya held the phone to Mikado’s ears. He could hear Psyche’s erratic breathing – he was probably exhausting his lungs from all the energy shouting exerted. “H-Hello, Psyche-san,” Mikado greeted. “As you can see, I’m perfectly well. Thank you for your concern.”

“See?” Sakuraya said once the phone was back to his ear. “There is nothing for you to worry about, Psyche-chan.”

In the background, the twins were laughing.

Hibiya said, _“You really need to stop being so dramatic, Psyche.”_

Retaliating, Psyche snarled, _“Says the one who still needs a_ _—_ _,”_

_“Say it and die.”_

_“So mean to your otōto, Hibi-chan!”_

_“Insufferable brat!”_

Psyche turned his attention back to Sakuraya, who patiently waited for the sibling spat to end. _“Tell Mi-chan that Iza-chan wants him to come back home so that there will be time for him to try on his new uniform! It’s so cute!”_

“Alright,” Sakuraya replied. “We’ll see you back in Shinjuku.”

_“Bye-bye!”_

* * *

 

**_Shifting Threads_ **

* * *

 

_“Do you know?”_

_“Know what?”_

_“About the survivor?”_

_“Survivor?”_

_“The one who survived Bloody Mary?”_

_“Isn’t that some horror story in Europe?”_

_“No! No! Don’t you watch the news? I’m talking about the serial killer – Bloody Mary!”_

_“Oh. What about it?”_

_“There was a kid who stopped her.”_

_“Really? What’s their name? Have they released it?”_

_“No one knows but…”_

_“But?”_

_“I heard that they’re_ _—_ _,”_

* * *

 

**_Shifting Threads_ **

* * *

 

“Mi-chan!” Psyche yelled from the living room. “Come on out and model for us! Oh! I bet you’ll be so adorable!”

Mairu giggled. “Psyche-nii sounds so creepy.”

“Weird,” Kururi echoed.

Psyche yelped. “Eh?!”

Mirth flickered up Mikado’s spine as he straightened his tie. The uniform fit well on his slender figure, and he liked the way it looked on his skin. Mikado peered at his reflection. Despite the uniform being clean and sharp, his eyes looked dead. They were a cold, unreflective. Maybe one day, the spark of life will appear in his eyes once more. Maybe he’d be happy once again.

Maybe he’d be able to smile.

“Mi-chan!”

“C-Coming!” he yelled back, understanding already that Psyche would soon become restless and “insufferable”, according to Hibiya. Sparing himself one last glance, Mikado made his way out of his bedroom (and that word made his heart ache and tremble and _weep_ because this was his life now, this apartment was _home_ ) and ambled towards the living room where the rest of the “family” was waiting.

Only the twins, Izaya, and the cousins he’d met were there excluding Shōyō, who had a business meeting apparently.

“Looking sharp, Mi-kun!” Mairu commented impishly, giving him a beam as he caught her eye. Beside her, as usual, Kururi nodded and murmured, “Nice.” _You look nice, nephew._

Mikado was getting better at decoding Kururi but he wasn’t fluent like Izaya or Mairu. Hibiya peered at him from over his book and gave an approving nod. Hachimenroppi briefly glanced at him, smiled with a small nod, before turning his attention back to the book in his hands. Sakuraya clapped his hands and smiled warmly.

Psyche — who was draped over Hachimenroppi’s back — grinned wildly and squealed, “Mi-chan, you look so cute! Iza-chan is going to have to beat your suitors off with a stick!”

Hibiya snorted.

Izaya approached with a camera, ignoring Psyche’s choice of words as usual. Amusement was painted on the smile that danced on his lips. “Pictures?” he asked in that gentle, almost soft voice of his.

Mikado blinked but nodded. He never minded taking pictures unlike his parents, who did almost everything possible to get out of taking family photos.

“Ooh! Ooh!” Mairu burst out once Izaya lifted the camera to take the picture of Mikado’s awkward pose. “Wait, Iza-nii! Let Kuru-nee and I put on our uniforms too! It’ll be like the first day of school all over again!”

Without waiting for a response, Mairu grasped Kururi’s wrist and sped towards their room. Izaya huffed, shaking his head in exasperation. The twins came back a few minutes later decked out in the sailor girls’ uniform. Mairu was grinning in a fashion similar to Psyche, and Kururi looked indifferent and bored though Mikado could see the mirth in her eyes.

Mairu looped her arm around Mikado’s, and Kururi took the other. “Smile!” Mairu said, her grin stretching wider than what was believed to be possible for a human being. “Iza-nii! Take the picture!”

“Already did,” Izaya replied breezily, smirking.

“Not ready,” Kururi’s voice floated to Mikado’s ears.

“No fair, Iza-nii!” Mairu protested. “I blinked!”

Izaya rolled his eyes. “Not my problem.”

“Iza-nii!”

“Rude.”

Watching the Orihara family interact with one another made his chest ache — it wasn’t a burning ache like earlier days, however, though it still burned his lungs, making it difficult to breathe. Warmth settled deep in the pit of his stomach, making him wish that he had the strength to smile. _One day,_ Mikado promised himself as Mairu began to climb atop a struggling Izaya for the camera. _One day I will show this family how appreciative I am of them. One day I’ll smile again._

Although his life was no longer ordinary and boring, Mikado could learn how to love and cherish the warm family that took in his unfortunate soul.  


	9. The Prestigious Academy of Raijin // Eight

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> RECAP: Mikado spends another day roaming the thrilling streets of Ikebukuro under the cover of daylight, and overhears exciting rumors dealing with the local color gangs and the man named Heiwajima Shizuo. After having an alleged glimpse of his childhood best friend, Mikado is hit with feelings of nostalgia before settling down in a quiet park. Mikado then meets Sakuraya, another Orihara, and Psyche’s overprotective, borderline possessive, feelings towards Mikado spills out over the phone.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I don’t own Durarara!! No copyright infringement intended, no money is being made. All rights reserved to Ryōgo Narita. Also I apologize for any inaccuracies with the Japanese culture. I do not mean to insult/offend anyone. 
> 
> Sorry for the long wait for this chapter, senior year has been extremely hectic!! I’m not giving up, however, and I have the next three or so chapters planned out! I hope they’ll keep you on your toes. 
> 
> Enjoy!!

* * *

 

**_Shifting Threads_ **

* * *

 

The grounds of Raijin Middle were quaint, immaculate, and pristine. It was expected for a high-class school, of course. Mikado paid close attention to the administrator leading him and Izaya around the grounds, but it was more for his benefit seeing as how this school was Izaya’s alma mater. Mikado still found himself detached from the conversation in general, his mind and thoughts drifting, but he made all the right inquiring, awed sounds expected of him. Izaya was smirking softly, but Mikado assumed the man had him figured out.

They ambled by the library, and the man said, “We also have quite a few of Hibiya-sensei’s literary works on our shelves.” He chuckled quietly. “Our librarian is quite the fan.”

He moved on, pratting about the extensive list of clubs Raira had. Mikado shifted a little in Izaya’s direction, murmuring, “I didn’t know Hibiya-san was a writer.”

A smile, kind to Mikado yet mysterious to others, graced Izaya’s lips. “He’s a bit modest about it so he doesn’t speak much of his works,” he said. “He’s also a very accomplished mangaka, too.”

Mikado hummed, his interest piqued. As they continued to stroll the grounds in the tour, Mikado’s mind churned with new information. Orihara Hibiya was a writer in various fields, and his works were well-known. It made him wonder what everyone else did for a living—in fact, what did the Orihara’s even _do_? Mikado had never questioned their wealth nor their status, and he didn’t have reason to. They were still the kind, generous family that took him in when he was on the brink of desperation. Hachimenroppi and Sakuraya looked like they were still in high school, but Mikado was certain Psyche was in University or in the workforce.

What was the Orihara bloodline? What made people tremble in both fear and reverence at the slightest mention of their family name? What were they known for? Why were they feared?

_“Izaya has a dangerous job so I prefer that you try to keep a low profile.”_

Just what did his adoptive father do?

Ten minutes had passed, and Mikado found himself standing in front of the closed door that led to his future homeroom. Izaya had left with a twirl of his heel and a, “I’m going to go play with Shizu-chan,” only a minute prior, so Mikado was on his own. He swallowed, fingers trembling. He had never been a “new student” before. In his hometown, everyone knew everyone. Literally. People had known his name before he knew theirs, and it was only because a name as odd as his would cause a few curious whispers.

“Well, here is your class, Orihara-san,” the administrator said, stepping out of the classroom. Behind him, Mikado could see a mop of brown hair. It was probably his teacher, he reasoned, but his heart ached and sunk underneath the ground. “Have a wonderful first day.” The administrator gave him a friendly, comforting pat on the shoulder before strolling down the hall.

“Welcome to 2-A, Orihara-Ryuugamine-san,” the teacher, Miyamoto, greeted kindly, her eyes smiling.

“Hello,” Mikado greeted softly, eyes down casted to the polished tile. His heart thudded underneath his chest, and his lungs ached. The cold, cruel grasp of grief tightened their hands around his neck as he quietly observed the woman before him; a woman who reminded him, very strongly, of his late mother. Miyamoto-sensei introduced Mikado to the intrigued class of middle schoolers, and Mikado was shepherded to an empty seat in the back of the classroom.

_She smiles, lovingly, and her eyes are sparkling. “Mikado-chan!” she calls, and there is a bright lilt to her voice. “Our song is on!”_

Mikado opened his notebook to clean page, focusing his eyes on the board in front of him. His fingers trembled around his pen but he paid it no heed. Thoughts and emotions fumbled inside of his mind as he fought against the vivid flashbacks haunting his mind. He took controlled, calculated breaths as Miyamoto-sensei reviewed yesterdays’ lesson, he assumed, on the periodic table by randomly calling on students. Mikado refused to taint the Orihara name with his actions, so he did his utmost best to calm his mind.

_“What a downpour,” his mother says, staring out the window. Thunder crackles in the distance, and rain beats upon the soil punishingly. Mikado trembles, hiding in his mothers’ apron, and cries. He is only seven, and thunderstorms are nightmares. She shushes him, smoothing her fingers through his hair, and suggests, “You know what that means, don’t you, Mikado-chan?”_

_Mikado blinks up at her, teary eyes displaying his befuddlement. She smiles warmly, kindly, and murmurs, “Let’s make a pillow fort, yeah?”_

As Mikado was overwhelmed with memories of a haunting past, his classmates observed him stealthily. Majority concluded that the newest addition to their class was quiet and reserved, but not in the pretentious way one might’ve expected. _Such a shy, friendly soul,_ one of them thought. Mikado blinked, pulling himself away from memories of pillow forts and movie nights during thunderstorms, and scanned the board for new information.

There wasn’t much Mikado could do, seeing as how his stay in the hospital had made him far ahead in the lesson. Mikado guessed that he was somewhere in the middle of the chemistry unit whereas the rest of the class had just begun.

“Orihara-san,” Miyamoto called.

Mikado froze, thinking he’d been caught dazing, and said, shakily, “Y-yes, sensei?”

“Do you know what the Noble Gases are? If you do, can you name them? Or explain to me _why_ they are called the Noble Gases?” the chemistry teacher questioned. Mikado knew what it was, of course, and sensed that the woman was gauging how much he knew, how far he was with the various worksheets he’d been given. The rest of the class, however, didn’t know this, and complaints echoed throughout the classroom.

“Sensei, you’re being too unfair!”

“Cut him some slack, Miyamoto-sensei!”

“We’ve barely breached those topics!”

“He just came back from the hospital—didn’t you, Orihara-san?”

“You’re being mean to Orihara-san, sensei!”

“It’s his first day!”

Miyamoto frowned, her lips thinning sharply. “I’m sorry but I believe there is only one Orihara-Ryuugamine Mikado in this classroom,” she chided, her voice dark and grave. The class fell silent, teens shuffling in their desks with embarrassment. “That is whom I’m speaking to.” Her eyes flicked towards Mikado, who was still frozen, his memories retreating for the moment, and continued. “Can you answer any of them?”

Amidst the eyes upon him, Mikado nodded, and subsequently rattled off the answers with detailed responses. He fidgeted, shifting nervously, anxiety a cold sliver in his insides, upon the astonished silence permeating the classroom. It lasted briefly, before his classmates erupted into awed praise. Mikado flushed from the attention. He wasn’t used to this. Masaomi was the one who thrived underneath the spotlight of others. Mikado preferred the cloak of darkness and shadows.

“Whoa, Orihara-san is really smart!”

“As expected of an Orihara.”

“So cool!”

“Nerd.”

“Great, _more_ competition.”

“Ne, Yamaguchi-san, you have competition now!”

Miyamoto smiled, her eyes glittering with excitement, before she began asking Mikado question after question in rapid succession. It seemed, to Mikado, that the woman barely allowed herself time to breathe between inquiries. Mikado blinked at the onslaught, and whispers drifted in the air once more.

“Those are really advanced questions, sensei.”

“That’s like the second semester material!”

“Can he answer them, though?”

Mikado almost smiled as he answered the advanced questions, making it seem as easy as breathing. Then again, nowadays, breathing was extremely difficult. Well, for Mikado at least.

“Is it correct, sensei? Is he right?”

Shock settled on Miyamoto’s features before she said, primly, satisfied, “Correct, Orihara-san.”

“Looks like we have a genius on our hands!”

Mikado felt his face warm with heat and, by the coos of various females and the laughs of the boys, knew that a vibrant crimson danced on his cheeks. His classmates’ reactions caused his embarrassment to grow even more, and Mikado flushed. He felt the blush spiral to the tips of his ears. His eyes fell onto his notebook, and he shrunk inside of his seat, as if to tell the others that he was mortified.

“Alright, alright, calm down everyone,” Miyamoto said, wrangling her class under control. “We’re here to learn, not antagonize others.”

The rest of the morning is a daze to Mikado, whom is drowning in memories of a smiling mother, a chortling father, an adventurous childhood friend. Dark shadows crept along the edges of his memories, reminding Mikado of the danger in his past, in his mind, that lurked in the depths. The lunch bell rang, causing his classmates to bolt out of the room, and his fingers are still trembling.

Their Japanese History teacher was yelling about their homework. Mikado needed to read the next chapter. Quietly, he packed his materials from morning classes away and took out his lunch. Few classmates littered the room, conversing in their little cliques. While they glance in his direction here and there, probably mustering up the courage to speak with him, Mikado cannot help but feel eyes burning themselves against his skin.

He shuddered but opened his lunch. Izaya, who had placed such care and time into his bento, would be disappointed if he discovered Mikado did not eat.

 _Finally,_ Mikado thought, relief blanketing him with comfort and security, _something that is normal._

* * *

 

**_Shifting Threads_ **

* * *

 

> **_RANT 702 – HE’S HERE_ **
> 
> _Guys, I am screadfgming!!! HE IS HERE HE HAS COME DNLSRGB!!! He is so kinfd and smart and sweet nd omaidfklv he is perfect the lovely angel that is wha r he is I swera omgggggg he is amazing ahhhh!!! I can get lost in those blue eyes of his anyday!!! He is just what I thought, a kinderd soul, an intelligent mind, oh my gosh, I bed he’s innocent in evry way possible~, and I kidn fo wanna **destoye** that innocence estering insdei fo him. wouldn’t that be gorgeous? Beutful? Seeing hijm splintered and broken and kejrdfgoisk ahhh I’m being weird huh? Lol but I knwo all of you look at your crushesand you wanna see them scream and pant and aergfnakltg ANYWAY I CAN JSTU IMAGIN E WHEN WE BEIGN DATIGN ADKGJNL he’ll be so sweet and kind and lovely and the perfect gentlesment ahh and my family will LOVE HIM BECAUSE DUH HOW AN OYU NOT LOVE THIS BUDBLE OF JOY AND PERFECTION  and GUESS WHT he’s like a genius everyone A GENIUS HE KNEW THINGS NO ONE LSE KNEW IN TEHUNIT AND IM SCRAMGIN???? _
> 
> _Ahhhh, can you tell I’m in love????_
> 
> _Best wishes,_
> 
> _little dreamer_
> 
> [save] [post] [edit] [delete]
> 
> _> > are you sure you wish to pot this?_
> 
> **{yes}** {no}

* * *

 

**_Shifting Threads_ **

* * *

 

Chatter from Raijin Middle swelled and rose like a bubble. Inside of class 1-A held the twins, Kururi and Mairu. Perched on Kururi’s desk, Mairu flipped nonchalantly through a fashion magazine. Her russet eyes observed the varying forms and fabrics before her eyes. Kururi was enthralled in a rhythm game, her fingers tapping determinately on the screen. Handfuls of classmates loitered in the classroom, but they knew to leave the Orihara twins to their devices.

The twins’ quiet solitude was disrupted when their phones pinged a tinkling tune at the same time. A small pout pulled at Kururi’s lips as she closed her mobile game temporarily, and checked for the source of interruption. Mairu hummed a lullaby under her breath as she searched her phone. She didn’t mind the interruption unlike Kururi, the fashion magazine was getting a tad d—

There was a new blog post.

1-A was quiet, except for the smattering of laughs here and there, but those who dwelled in the classroom wince and cringed, shuddering, at the dark aura cloaking the classroom. Whispers of apprehension and wonder floated in the air. Was something going on? Was there an attack on the school? Were they in danger of dying?

“Where is that aura coming from?” one of them whispered, on the verge of crumbling to tears.

“The twins,” one of them answered, and then echoed, “It’s the _twins_.”

With a voice dripping poison, Kururi said, “Little dreamer.” _Little dreamer has gone too far._

“I agree, Kuru-nee,” Mairu growled. Her eyes glinted.

Their interaction piqued the interest of one of their classmates, and somewhat friend, Aoba Kuronuma, who sauntered over there. He was the only one brave enough to go near the twins what with their perilous, deadly aura. Many had already fled the classroom with trembling limbs. The twins watched him stroll their way with the gait and confidence of a color gang leader—which made sense, seeing as how Aoba was the founder, and current leader, of the Blue Squares.

“What’s got you two looking so troubled?” Aoba asked, leaning on the desk in front of the twins.

The twins blinked at him in a disturbing fashion but Aoba wasn’t deterred. He raised an eyebrow. Mairu fell silent, lips pulled into a dark frown, as she peered at the words on her screen. Her bloodlust rose, howling for little dreamers’ blood.

“Trouble,” Kururi explained. _Trouble is brewing._

Understand the weight of Kururi’s words, Aoba tensed. Pensively, he frowned, wracking his mind for anything that might inconvenience the twins or him. He frowned, emptyhanded, and asked, “Anything to do with me?”

“No,” Kururi said but then paused and, eyes glittering with an unfathomable emotion, added, “Maybe.”

“It’s quite hard not to get involved in the happenstances of Ikebukuro,” Mairu said, almost sagely. “You think you’re safe but you’re swept away in its sea of chaos before you’re even aware of being adrift.”

Aoba peered at the girls before him and thought, _I wonder what’s bothering them…_

The twins blinked at one another, and a silent conversation transpired before Aoba’s eyes. They shared one last look between each other, an idea being birthed from their connected minds, and they turned to Aoba as one.

Their whisper echoed in Aoba’s ears like the chanting of a ghost. The name slid off their lips like a prayer, a gospel, like they were murmuring the name of a god.

“Mi-kun.”

* * *

 

**_Shifting Threads_ **

* * *

 

> **To: Mikado**
> 
> **Subj.: n/a**
> 
> _Mikado. I’m sorry. I’ve been lying to you for months. I’m sorry for not realizing – not knowing – not understanding – that your parents are, well, gone. That they died. you’ve been hurting so silently, so quietly, and I’ve been ignorant to all of it. I didn’t know and I prattled on and on about Saki-chan and my other friends at school and I neglected you. I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. If I wasn’t so wrapped up in my own arrogance, I’d hav actually seen the grief in your words. I’m sorry. Frgive me. Mikado, please. I’m so sorry._
> 
> _Im a failure. I don’t deserve to be called your best friend anymore._
> 
> _Im sorry_
> 
> _(p.s. Im the leader of a color gang – the Yellow Scarves)_
> 
> **[delete]** [save] [send]
> 
> **> > do you wish to delete this message?**
> 
> **_Yes_ ** _No_

* * *

 

**_Shifting Threads_ **

* * *

 

Back in Shinjuku, a loud sigh echoed throughout Izaya’s apartment. Hibiya clucked his tongue in response, and pressed his pen against the paper before him harshly. The scratches of the tip floated in the air as another sigh escaped Orihara Psyche’s mouth. The apartment was quiet—quieter than what Hibiya had grown accustomed to over the span of a few weeks. Relatives—mostly cousins—slipped in and out of Izaya’s home, bringing forth comfort and vitality to the both the apartment and Mikado. Now, however, the twins, Hachimenroppi, and Mikado were in school. Sakuraya had left earlier that morning, citing he wished to sightsee Ikebukuro.

Hibiya scanned his eyes over the manuscript before him, observing the words he’d written, and another sigh was heaved. With slow, calculated movements, Hibiya set his pen down, turned to his twin, and said, “What.”

Psyche, whom was draped over one of Izaya’s couches, pouted, “Hibi-chan, I’m bored. Entertain me!”

“No.” Hibiya said, curtly, and resumed checking over his manuscript. “Go bother Izaya-san,” he added after a small pause.

“Hibi-chan!” Psyche whined, dramatically throwing his arm over his eyes. “Iza-chan is working!”

“And what do you think I’m doing, Psyche?” Hibiya said, scowling darkly. His lips twitched. “Watching daytime television?”

Psyche pouted, his whine making the level of his voice rise a few octaves. “It isn’t fair! Everyone is either in school or sightseeing today! I’m _bored!”_

“Go visit Shōyō then. He’s in town.”

Psyche made a noise. “Shō-chan is more boring than you! It’s a miracle, really.”

An eerie silence cloaked Izaya’s home. There was a pause before a shrill squeal echoed the hallways: “Forgive me, Hibi-chan!”

Hibiya was terrifyingly calm.

“I refuse.”

Overhearing the sudden clamor in his home, Izaya frowned and made his way out of his bedroom. Dressed in sweats, a tee, and a bathrobe draped over his shoulders, Izaya didn’t resemble the appearance an informant normally took. It was his day off, and, quite frankly, Izaya was a little exhausted with the various facades he wore like skin.

Izaya sighed, entering his living room. “I can’t leave either of you alone for even an _hour_.” A chastising frown pulled at the males’ lips as he observed the damage before his eyes. Cushion pillows were destroyed, fluff spilling out of its seams; a small, spitting fire had erupted mysteriously, billowing with an ominous air inside of the kitchen; splattered over Psyche was various colors of paint, and Hibiya was soaked to the bone with, presumably, water.

Amusement flickered in Izaya’s eyes as he strolled towards his kitchen, grabbing the fire extinguisher, and smothered the flames. “It’s a wonder you two haven’t begun the apocalypse yet,” he said, bemused. He turned and stared at Psyche. “Where did the paint come from?”

Somehow, Hibiya had managed to look graceful and photogenic. Psyche looked like a painting had thrown up on him.

“Psyche,” Hibiya said.

“Eh? Hibi-chan, rude!”

* * *

 

**_Shifting Threads_ **

* * *

 

Can you see it now?

The strings of fate are being weaved and cut and tied.

This world is not what it is supposed to be and yet it is.

Can you feel it?

Those who walk Ikebukuro’s streets, can you sense the monster humming underneath? Or do you write it off as a dizzy spell? An earthquake? Mother Nature? A hallucination?

How long will it take you to open your eyes and see the shifting threads before you? How long will you feign ignorance to the ordinary happenstances of your home? how long must you pretend?

(until someone is dead, perhaps?)

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Enjoy!!! 
> 
> My tumblr: sleepykenmas.tumblr.com


End file.
